LOVELL’S  LITERATURE  SERIES. 

Desirable  Works  of  Current  and  Standard  Literaiure  in  a 
Convenient  and  Economical  Form. 


1 Modern  Painters.  Vol.  i.  By 

John  Ruskin 30 

2 Modern  Painters.  Vol.  2 30 

3 Modern  Painters.  Vol.  3 40 

4 Modern  Painters.  Vol.  4 40 

5 Modern  Painters.  Vol.  5 40 

6 History  of  the  French  Revolution 

Vol  I.  By  Thomas  Carlyle. . . 30 

7 History  of  the  French  Revolution 

Vol.  2 30 

8 Stones  of  Venice.  Vol.  1.  By 

John  Ruskin 40 

9 Stones  of  Venice.  Vol.  2 40 

10  Stones  of  Venice.  Vol.  3 40 

11  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture. 

By  John  Ruskin 40 

12  Ethics  of  the  Dust.  By  Ruskin..  25 

13  Sesame  and  Lilies.  By  Ruskin..  25 

14  The  Queen  of  the  Air.  Ruskin. . 25 

15  Crown  of  Wild  Olive.  Ruskin..  20 

16  Frederick  the  Great.  Vol.  i.  By 

Thomas  Carlyle 30 

17  Frederick  the  Great.  Vol.  2 30 

18  Frederick  the  Great.  Vol.  3 30 

19  Frederick  the  Great.  Vol.  4 30 

20  Frederick  the  Great.  Vol.  5 30 

21  Frederick  the  Great.  Vol.  6 30 

22  Frederick  the  Great.  Vol.  7 30 

23  Frederick  the  Great.  Vol.  8 30 

24  Past  and  Present.  By  Carlyle. . . 25 

25  Sartor  Resartus.  By  Carlyle. .. . 25 

26  Art  of  Eng-land.  By  Ruskin 25 

27  King-  of  the  Golden  River.  By 

John  Ruskin 25 

28  Deucalion.  By  John  Ruskin....  40 

29  St.  Mark’s  Rest.  By  Ruskin 25 

30  Lectures  on  Art.  By  Ruskin. ...  25 

31  The  Two  Paths.  By  Ruskin  ....  25 

32  Val  D’Arno  ; Pleasures  of  Eng- 

land. By  John  Ruskin 30 

33  Arrows,  I.  By  John  Ruskin 25 

34  Arrow^s,  II.  By  John  Ruskin 25 

35  Our  Fathers  Have  Told  Us  ; The 

Laws  of  Fesole.  By  Ruskin. . 30 

36  A Joy  Forever  ; Inaugural  Ad- 

dress. By  John  Ruskin 20 

37  Oliver  Cromwell,  I.  By  Carlyle.  30 

38  Oliver  Cromv/ell,  II 30 

39  Oliver  Cromwell,  HI 30 

40  Chartism.  By  Thomas  Carlyle..  20 

41  Poems.  By  John  Ruskin 20 

42  Poetry  of  Architecture  ; Giotto 

and  His  Works.  By  Ruskin..  25 

43  Fors  Clavigera,  I.  By  Ruskin..  30 

44  Fors  Clavigera,  II 30 

45  Fors  Clavigera,  III .' 30 

46  Fors  Clavigera,  IV 30 

47  Lectures  on  Architecture  and 

Painting.  By  John  Ruskin. . . 30 

48  Preraphaelitism : Aratra  Pene- 

lici.  By  John  Ruskin 30 

49  Elements  of  Drawing.  Ruskin..  25 

50  Proserpina.  By  John  Ruskin. ...  40 

51  Ariadne : Crystal  Palace  Lecture 

By  John  Ruskin 30 


52  Mornings  in  Florence  ; Time  and 

Tide.  By  John  Ruskin 25 

53  Life  of  Schiller.  By  Carlyle 25 

54  Life  of  John  Sterling.  Carlyle..  25 

55  Latter-day  Pamphlets.  Carlyle.  30 

56  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship.  By 

Thomas  Carlyle 25 

57  Diamond  Necklace  and  Mirabeau. 

By  Thomas  Carlyle 20 

58  Early  Kings  of  Norway.  Carlyle  20 

59  Willis’  Poems.  By  N.  P.  Willis  . 25 

60  Characteristics  and  other  Essays. 

^ By  Thomas  Carlyle 20 

61  Life  of  Heine.  By  Carlyle 20 

62  Count  Cagliostro.  By  Carlyle. . . 20 

63  Jean  Paul  Frederick  Richter.  By 

Thomas  Carlyle 20 

64  Goethe  and  Miscellaneous  Essays. 

By  Thomas  Carlyle 20 

65  German  Literature.  By  Carlyle.  20 

66  Corn  Law  Rhymes  and  Other 

Essays.  By  Thomas  Carlyle.  20 

67  Signs  of  the  Time.  By  Carlyle. . 20 

68  Dr.  Francia  and  other  Essays. 

By  Thomas  Carlyle 20 

69  Portraits  of  John  Knox.  Carlyle  20 

70  Voltaire  and  Novalis.  Carlyle...  29 

71  Light  of  Asia.  Edwin  Arnold...  25 

72  Aurora  Leigh.  By  Browning...  25 

73  Sketch  Book.  By  Irving 30 

74  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome.  By  T. 

B.  Macaulay 25 

75  Bryant’s  Poems.  By  Bryant 30 

76  Selected  Poems.  By  Longfellow  25 

77  Selected  Poems.  By  Whittier. ..  25 

78  Dante’s  Vision  of  Hell,  Purga- 

tory, and  Paradise 25 

79  Lucile.  By  Owen  Meredith 25 

80  Life  of  Washington.  By  Henley  25 

81  Crayon  Papers.  By  Irving 20 

82  Life  of  Byron.  By  John  Nichol.  20 

83  Emerson’s  Essays.  Vol.  1 25 

84  Life  of  Gibbon.  J.  C.  Morrison.  20 

85  Paradise  Lost.  By  Milton 25 

86  Over  the  Summer  Seas.  By  John 

Harrison 25 

87  Lalla  Rookh.  By  Thos.  Moore..  25 

88  Life  of  Fredrica  Bremer 25 

89  Byron’s  Poems 30 

90  Browning’s  (Robt.)  Poems 25 

91  Tennyson’s  Poems 40 

92  Proctor’s  Poems.  By  A.  Proctor  25 

93  Scott’s  Poems 40 

94  Goldsmith’s  Plays 20 

95  A Tour  of  the  Prairies.  Irving..  25 

96  An  Outline  of  Irish  History.  By 

J.  H.  M’Carthy 20 

97  Whist  or  Bumblepuppy 20 

98  Tale  of  a Traveler.  By  Irving.  25 

99  Baillie  the  Covenanter.  Carlyle  20 

icK>  Emerson’s  Essays.  Vol.  II 25 

101  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor.  By 

Walter  Scott 2a 

102  Hyperion.  By  Longfellow 25 

103  Outre  Mer.  By  Longfellow. .. . 25 


' ■ ’0 

.7  ' 


; '^ '■■■', 7', ' 

l-Vv-M 


82>5 

SmBst 


STRUCK  DOWN 


A NOVEL. 


BY 

HAWLEY  SMARTo 


NEW  YORK 

INTERNATIONAL  BOOK  COMPANY 

3,  4,  5 AND  6 MISSION  PLACE 


STRUCK  DOWN 


CHAPTER  1. 

THE  “golden  galleon.” 

Thebe  is  a part  of  Plymouth,  and  a very  interesting  part  too, 
which,  as  a rule,  escapes  the  ken  of  the  passing  stranger.  1 allude 
to  the  old  Plymouth  harbor,  which  lies  just  beyond  the  Barbican,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  river  Plym,  and  which  was  the  old  seaport  from 
whence  the  immortal  Plymouth  Captains  set  sail  to  conquer  new 
worlds  and  do  batile  with  the  enemies  of  England.  Long  before 
^he  famous  Sound  was  the  renowned  roadstead  of  the  West,  when 
the  breakwater  was  not  even  dreamed  of,  from  the  mouth  of  the 
Pl^m  did  stout  Devon  men  put  out  to  sea  on  buccaneering  expe- 
ditions, from  which  they  returned  covered  with  glory  and  with 
pockets  well  lined.  The  world  was  youn^r  then,  and  the  telegraph, 
the  daily  paper,  and  the  special  correspondent  among  the  blessings 
to  comC  These  gallant  sailors,  who  went  forth  to  harry  their  coun- 
try’s foes  upon  the  high  seas,  were  not  very  particular  with  regard 
to  nationaltty.  Education  was  at  a low  standard,  and  the  knowledge 
of  tongues,  lor  instance,  peculiarly  deficient.  We  w[ere  always  at 
war  with  sons®  power,  and  if  a deeply  laden  galleob  fell  in  these 
adventurers*  way,  the  crew  of  which  spoke  no  English,  who  was  to 
determine  whether  they  were  not  Spanish,  French,  Dutch,  or  what- 
ever the  particula.^  nation  happened  to  be,  that  we  were  on  pleasant 
throat-cutting  terms  with?  There  was  nobody  to  S(^nd  a letter  to 
the  papers  in  those  times,  reporting  such  outrages,  for  reasons  above 
mentioned,  and  the  b'^^ccaneers  took  precautions  to  prelvent  represen- 
tation of  their  irregi^lar  practices  in  a manner  which  it  is  test  not 
to  dwell  upon.  We  Certainly  owe  them  a good  dieal;  but  1 am 
afraid  in  these  days  we  should  dub  them  pirates  without  scruple, 
and  that  an  unappreciative  judge  and  jury,  with  no  sense  of  romance 
about  them,  would  consign  them  to  the  public  executioner. 

Still,  from  that  snug  liule  harbor  lying  below /the  citadel  did 


4 


STRUCK  DOWKT. 


Drake  and  his  captains,  leaving  that  historic  game  ot  bowls  on  the 
Hoe,  sally  forth  to  scatter  (he  Armada,  and  shatter  (he  power  of 
the  Spaniard  for  aye.  Strange  doings  has  that  same  harbor  wit- 
nessed, and  it  is  probable  that  during  the  early  days  of  this  cent- 
ury, besides  the  privateering  which  was  hereditary  to  the  place,  and 
handed  down  by  tradition  from  the  times  of  Elizabeth  or  jearlier 
(they  called  it  buccaneering  then),  there  was  a smartish  trade  done 
in  Nantes  cognac,  laces,  silks,  etc.,  tor  the  Devon  men  had  much 
the  same  taste  for  smuggling  that  characterized  the  whole  of  the 
south  coast  in  those  days  of  heavy  tarifls,  and  were  bold  sailors  and 
keen  traders  to  boot. 

Down  upon  Plymouth  bar,  as  the  quay  running  alongside  the 
quaint  little*  harbor  is  called,  stands  one  of  the  queerest  nautical 
taverns  ever  seem  There  is  no  possibility  of  mistaking  it  for  any. 
thing  else.  Even  from  the  outside  you  can  picture  the  interior— the 
snugly  curtained  latticed  windows,  the  low,  dark  unpolished  mahog- 
any door- way,  are  all  unmistakably  indicative  of  the  brass  and  dark- 
wood  fittings  within.  You  can  see  instinctively  the  cozy  bar,  fra- 
grant with  the  perfume  of  lemons,  wine,  and  old  Jamaica;  the  old 
china  bowls  and  silver-mounted  punch-ladles;  the  squat-stoppered 
Dutch-shaped  bottles  that  decK  the  shelves;  the  portentous  sheaf  of 
long  clay  pipes,  slender- stemmed,  deep-bowled  fellows,  such  as  are 
not  made  in  this  country,  but  had  evidently  found  their  way  across 
from  Amsterdam  or  the  Hague.  You  knew  there  was  a back  parlor 
sacred  to  merchant-skippers,  where  endless  pipes  were  smoked, 
where  mighty  jorums  of  punch  were  consumed,  and  marvelous 
yarns  were  told  with  portentous  solemnily  and  received  with  un- 
questioning credulity.  These  men  went  “down  to  the  sea  in 
ships,'*  and  were  cognizant  of  the  strange  things  their  class  at  times 
were  witness  to.  It  was  no  sailors*  public-house,  nor  could  any  one 
have  deemed  iit  so  for  a moment.  It  was  a respectable  tavern  of  the 
old  Kind,  the  irequenters  of  which,  if  they  took  a deal  of  liquor — 
and  they  did — knew  howto  carry  it  discreetly.  Many  of  the  habitues 
of  the  little  pailor  had  their  abode  at  the  Golden  Galleon.  Tra- 
dition said  that  tlie  house  had  been  built  out  of  the  spoil  that  ac- 
crued to  some  freebooter  for  his  successful  share  in  an  attack  on  one 
of  those  famous  Spanish  argosies.  These  rough  sea-captains  found 
the  Galleon  a pleasant  resting-place  during  their  brief  holidays 
on  shore.  They  met  congenial  society;  they  were  handy  to  look 
after  their  own  immediate  business;  the  tavern  had  a thoroughly 
nautical  air  pervading  it— the  liitle  parlor,  for  instance,  was  not  um 
like  a ship’s  cuddy;  and  lastly,  John  BlacK,  the  landlord,  was  one 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


5 


of  themselves.  John  Black  had  gone  to  sea  as  a boy  and  worked 
his  way  up  till  he  commanded  first  a small  craft,  and  finally  a clip- 
per engaged  in  the  Chinese  trade. 

After  some  thirty-five  years  afloat  he  cast  about  for  some  business 
in  which  to  settle  down  and  invest  his  savings,  and  thought  himself 
fortunate  when  he  acquired  the  good  will  and  a twenty-one  years’ 
leiise  of  the  Colden  Galleon,  it  Wc^s  an  old-fashioned  house  do- 
ing a good  business  when  it  came  into  John  Black’s  hands;  but  dur- 
ing the  ten  years’  he  had  conducted  it  it  had  thriven  wonderfully,  and 
more  especially  since  the  appear  ance  of  the  Sen  ora  some  half-dozen 
years  after  John  Black  had  establi^fhed  himself  there.  Who  she  was 
exactly  was  somewhat  of  a mystery.  She  called  the  bluff  old  land- 
lord of  the  Galleon  her  father,  and  he  invariably  acknowledged 
her  as  his  daughter;  but  how  came  the  old  sailor  sire  of  this  dark- 
eyed Spanish-looking  girl  whose  gait  was  haughty  as  a goddess’s, 
and  whose  black  orbs  positively  lightened  when  crossed? 

Nobody  had  ever  heard  that  John  Black  was  married,  and  it  was 
not  till  he  had  been  some  time  installed  at  the  Golden  Galleon 
that  the  Senora  made  her  appearance,  and  was  briefly  introduced  to 
his  cronies  by  John  BlacR  as  “ my  gal.”  He  was  a taciturn  man, 
and  to  inquiry  about  his  wife  briefly  replied,  “ dead,”  and  volun- 
teered no  further  explanation  of  his  matrimonial  experiences. 
Where  he  was  married  or  to  whom  was  known  only  to  himself;  but 
to  judge  from  the  Senora,  her  mother  must  have  had  Spanish  or 
Creole  blood  in  her  veins.  Girl  as  she  was — child  would  almost 
express  it  better,  for  Marietta  was  barely  seventeen  when  she  took 
possession  of  that  cozy  little  bar — she  soon  became  a presence  in  the 
house.  She  had  been  very  few  weeks  fhere  before  these  blufi;  old 
sea-dogs  were  made  to  comprehend  that  Miss  Black  admitted  no, jest- 
ing, that,  3^oung  as  she  was,  she  stood  severely  upon  her  dignity, 
and  though  treating  her  father’s  customers  with  the  utmost  courtesy^ 
she  did  it  in  right  regal  fashion.  They  were  astonished  at  first,  and 
half  inclined  to  resent  John  Black’s  “ gal  ” giving  herself  such  airs; 
but  the  sweetness  of  her  manner,  thesuuniness  of  lier  smile,  and  the 
quick  memory  she  showed  for  all  their  little  weaknesses,  speedily 
subdued  any  feeling  of  that  kind.  Sailors  have  usually  a quick  eye 
tor  beauty,  and  the  little  parlor  unanimously  agreed  that  John 
Black’s  daughter  was  a “crasher.”  They  varied  a good  deal  in 
epithets;  some  of  them  characterized  her  as  a “ bouncer,”  but  they 
all  agreed  on  one  point,  coming  back  to  their  old  nautical  parlance, 
that  the  “ Princess,”  as  they  at  that  time  dubbed  her,  was  the 
trimmest  craft  that  had  been  seen  in  these  waters  in  their  time.  But 


6 ' STRUCK  DOWN. 

the  “ Princess  ” rather  resented  the  title  conferred  upon  her  by 
what  was  technically  known  as  “ the  skipper’s  room,”  and  so  the 
little  coterie,  who  already  stood  in  awe  of  Marietta’s  hot  passionate 
temper,  were  driven  to  drop  the  appellation.  They  were  much 
puzzled  what  to  call  their  favorite,  when  the  arrival  of  a Spanish 
captain  solved  the  di faculty  for  them.  It  was  not  very  often  that 
foreigners  troubled  the  snug  little  tavern,  but  somehow  the 
Spaniard,  who  spoke  English  tolerably  well,  found  his  way  there. 
He  addressed  Marietta  as  ” the  Senora  ” from  the  outset.  She  re- 
ceived it  with  dignihed  complacency,  and  from  that  moment  it  came 
to  be  her  accepted  title  in  the  Golden  Galleon.  ' One  could  hard- 
ly call  such  a dashing  black-browed  brunette  with  the  stately  man- 
ner of  Marietta  “Miss  Black,”  and  the  new  appellation  certainly 
relieved  the  habitues  of  the  house  from  what  might  be  emphatically 
described  as  an  unnamed  difficulty.  The  Senora  she  became  then, 
and  the  Senora  she  was  widely  known  as  still,  for  she  had  the  repu- 
tation of  beins  the  prettiest  girl  in  Plymouth,  and  mDre  than  one 
idler  made  his  way  down  to  the  Golden  Galleon,  and  under  pre- 
tense of  assuaging  his  thirst  sought  for  a glimpse  of  the  presiding 
goddess.  But  such  danglers  soon  found  that  this  was  no  ordinary 
bar-maid.  Marietta  was  far  from  lavish  of  her  smiles  on  such 
chance  customers.  To  the  old  frequenters  of  the  house  she  was  all 
courtesy,  but  her  manner  to  these  new-comers  was  very  difierent, 
and  more  than  one  expert  in  that  description  of  flirtation  had  been 
put  to  confusion  by  the  contemptuous  indiflerence  with  which  his 
preliminary  compliments  had  been  received. 

Her  beauty,  the  haughtiness  with  which  she  carried  herself,  and 
the  somewhat  mysterious  hajze  concerning  her  birth  made  the  girl 
in  a way  rather  celebrated  in  the  city.  There  was  no  denying  it, 
she  was  a striking  figure  anywhere,  and  looked  considerably  above 
her  station.  She  had  naturally  good  taste,  and  her  father  was  lavish 
of  money  where  sne  was  concerned.  But  though  she  had  many  ad- 
mirers, no  one  could  as  yet  be  pointed  out  as  having  found  favor  in 
her  sight  There  were  two  acknowledged  pretenders  to  her  hand; 
one  was  a manly  young  sailor,  who,  by  his  own  dash  and  seaman- 
ship in  one  or  two  difficult  situations,  had  had  the  good  fortune  to 
obtain  the  command  of  a fine  ship,  just  after  his  thirtieth  year. 
The  other  was  a much  ojder  man.  Dave  Skirley  had  served  under 
her  father,  but  had  not  altogether  prospered  in  his  piofession.  He 
was  seldom  intrusted  with  a sliip,  but  haa  more  often  to  content 
himself  with  the  position  of  first  mate — a dark,  saturnine,  some- 
'Syhat  discontented  mgn,  as  is  apt  to  he  the  case  with  those  with 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


1 


whom  life  has  gone  askew.  But  this  did  not  prevent  his  conceiving 
a passionate  admiration  tor  Marietta.  The  JSenora  was  friendly  to 
him,  but  he  certainly  could  not  say  she  was  anything  more;  indeed, 
although  his  devotion  must  not  only  have  been  patent  to  the  girl 
herself,  but  to  aU  those  who  frequented  the  house,  Skirley  most  cer- 
tainly could  not  boast  of  receiving  anf  encouragement.  Still,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  neither  perhaps  could  his  younger  rival,  though 
in  the  skipper^‘^  room  there  went  round  many  a knowing  wink  and 
prediction  that  young  Jack  Furness  would  bring  the  haughty  beauty 
to  her  bearings.  Could  Jack  Furness  himself  have  been  cross-ex- 
amined on  this  point  he  would  have  been  tar  less  confident  than  the 
coterie  in  the  skipper’s  room.  He  had  been  away  from  Plymouth 
now  tor  the  best  part  of  a year  on  a voyage  to  Australia,  and  had 
carried  away  with  him  no  assurance  whatever  on  the  subject  He 
had  said  as  much  as  he  dared  before  leaving,  but  Marietta’s  manner 
had  made  him  afraid  to  risk  all  by  coming  to  the  point,  so  he  had 
taken  with  him  only  a memory — not  a promise — and  could  only 
trust  to  resume  his  wooing  when  he  returned  from  what  he  trusted 
would  prove  a prosperous  trip. 

It  was  somewhat  singular  that  such  a handsome  girl  as  Marietta 
had  not  an  acknowledged  lorer;  but  so  it  was,  and  she  had  only 
herself  to  thank  for  it.  The  idenora  was  hard  to  please,  and  the 
man  to  attract  her  wayward  fancy  had  apparently  yet  to 
come. 

Dave  Skirley,  when  on  shore,  kept,  as  far  as  he  dared,  a some- 
what jealous  watch  over  her  proceedings.  But  upon  two  occasions, 
when  Marietta  had  her  suspicions  roused  concerning  this  espionage, 
she  had  flamed  out  with  such  violence  as  had  made  him  wondrous 
shy  of  repeating  the  oftense.  It  was  hardly  likely  that  a hot-tem- 
pered, passionate  girl  like  the  Senora  would  submit  to  any  un- 
licensed control.  The  sole  being  who  had  the  slightest  right  to  take 
cognizance  of  her  proceedings  was  her  father,  and  blunt  old  John 
Black  was  about  as  likely  to  interfere  with  his  high-spirited  daugh- 
ter as  to  attempt  the  draining  the  Sound.  Nobody  as  yet  had  volun- 
teered the  assertion  that  Marietta  had  a favored  lover,  and  thus  ac- 
counted for  her  indifference  to  the  two  pretenders  to  her  hand.  The 
girl  had  uncontrolled  freedom,  and  at  times  delegated  her  duties  to 
an  assistant,  but  no  whisper  had  ever  gone  abroad  of  her  being  seen 
in  company  with  one  of  the  opposite  sex. 

8he  was,  when  encountered  out,  either  by  herself  or  walking 
with  a female  companion,  and  the  skipper’s  room,  in  their  ” to- 
bacco parliaments,”  steadfastly  believed  that  Jack  Furness  was  the 


8 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


man,  anrl  that  though  the  maiden  might  be  coy,  her  succumbing 
was  a mere  matter  of  time. 

“ Some  on  'em’s  like  that,  you  know,*'  said  one  of  the  oracles  of 
the  little  parlor;  “ they  hlls,  and  they  backs,  and  they  falls  ofi,  and 
they  wants  a light  hand  on  the  helm,  or  else  you  can  do  nothing 
with  them.  John  Black’s  daughter  is  just  about  as  handsome  and 
saucy  as  they  make  ’em.  They’re  a bit  skeary,  that  kind,  and  re- 
quire delicate  handling.  It  ain’t  no  use  attempting  I'o  capture  them 
with  a rush,  bless  yer!  Jack  Furness  is  a sailor  every  inch,  he 
knows  when  the  navigation’s  difficult.  Lord!  the  windings  of  some 
women’s  hearts  are  like  the  shifting  of  the  sands,  in  tho  ‘ James  ’ and 
‘ Mary’s,’  where  you  want  to  keep  the  lead  going,  as  you  all  know, 
mates,  every  minute.  You  can’t  hurry  through  ’ena.  As  1 said 
before,  Jack  Furness  knows  what  he’s  about!” 

The  old  story.  The  lookers-on  so  often  feel  that  they  know  more 
of  Dur  affairs  than  we  do  ourselves,  till  subsequent  events  show 
them  how  very  little  they  really  knew  about  it.  Had  there  been  a 
woman  there  to  take  note  of  Marietta’s  fits,  now  of  moody  silence 
and  now  of  quick  irritability,  she  would  have  suspected  there  was 
something  amiss  in  her  young  life — would  have  divined  there  was 
something  that  troubled  the  current  of  her  existence.  But  what 
were  a lotn^f  sailors  likely  to  know  about  the  stale  of  a girl’s  heart? 
A woman  could  have  had  half  a dozen  lovers,  and  twisted  the 
whole  skipper’s  room  round  her  little  finger  to  boot,  without  their 
knowing  anything  about  it.  The  Senora  kept  her  own  counsel, 
and  if  she  had  a serious  flirtation  in  hand,  conducted  it  with  discre- 
tion, and  took  good  care  that  the  hero  should  never  be  seen  at  the 
Golden  Galleon.  There  is  much  danger  of  shipwreck  in  some 
of  these  back  waters  of  life.  Men,  and  women  especially,  run  less 
danger  who  keep  in  the  open  channel. 


CHAPTER  11. 

THE  CITADEL  TRAGEDY. 

There  was  a mighty  sound  of  revelry  That  summer  night  in  the 
old  citadel  of  Plymouth.  Song  and  laughter  lang  out  of  the  open 
windows  of  the  mess-room,  till  their  faint  sounds  well  n^gh  reachea 
the  ears  of  the  loungers  on  the  Hoe.  Again  and  again  did  the  band 
crash  out  in  resonant  tones  the  See-saw  Waltzes^  or  the  popular 
refrain  of  " Wait  till  the  Clouds  roll  by.”  The  claret  jugs  fairly 
danced  round  the  table.  There  was  a tendency  on  the  part  of  the 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


9 


whole  party  to  break  into  vocal  melody  on  faint  pretext.  Hevet 
had  the  officers  of  the  — th  been  in  wilder  spirits.  Had  they  not 
got  their  orders  tor  the  East  that  morning,  and  were  they  not  say- 
ing good-bye  to  their  triends  previous  to  closing  their  mess  and 
sending  the  plate  to  their  bankers? 

There  is  a smack  of  the  Viking  blood  in  us  still,  1 suppose,  and 
like  our  progenitors  we  have  a tendency  to  a night’s  wassail  before 
betaking  ohrselves  to  our  ships.  Little  heeded  those  gay  spirits  of 
the  hard  tare  and  still  harder  fighting  that  lay  before  them  in 
Africa.  The  reflection  that  when  next  they  met  round  the  dinner- 
table  in  such  fashion,  many  a face  that  now  rippled  with  laughter 
would  be  cold  and  still  forever,  never  crossed  their  minds.  Men 
don’t  think  of  such  things  at  such  times,  the  pulses  beat  quick, 
and  the  blood  courses  svN^iftly  through  the  veins,  and  nobody  thinks 
but  of  the  honor  to  be  won,  the  rewards  to  be  gathered,  conjoined 
with  a feverish  thirst  to  have  what  is  called  “ a shy  at  the  enemy.” 
The  fighting  instinct  is  strong  in  man,  and  especially  in  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race,  when  he  deems  his  brethren  are  getting  somewhat  the 
worst  of  it.  We  may  quarrel  amongst  ourselves,  but  it  is  something 
like  the  quarrel  of  husband  and  wife.  Let  any  one  interfere  and 
he  finds  to  his  cost  that  their  unanimity  is  wonderful. 

One  man  alone  of  all  that  joyous  party  seemed  a little  distrait— 2k 
tall,  good-looking  young  fellow,  with  chestnut  hair,  and  a bold 
gray  eye.  He  joined  in  his  comrades’  mirth  to  some  extent,  but  if 
was  in  a somewhat  half-hearted  fashion,  such  as  one  would  hardly 
have  expected  from  his  physique  and  temperament.  He  gulped  his 
wine  down  too  in  absent  fashion,  as  a man  does  who  only  half  en. 
joys  it.  He  glanced  now  and  again  impatiently  at  his  watch,  and 
when  called  upon  to  sing  ” John  Peel,”  for  the  rendering  of  v^rhich 
lyric  he  was  celebrated  in  the  regiment,  would  have  fain  backed  out 
of  it,  but  this  his  comrades  would  not  stand.  He  was  compelled  to 
troll  out  the  grand  old  hunting-song,  and  they  gave  him  a chorus 
which  must  have  startled  the  very  rabbits  at  Mount  Edgecum.be. 

” 1 say,  Charlie,  old  man,  you  ain’t  up  to  concert  pitch  by  a long 
chalk  to-night.  Fancy  you,  the  best  man  we’ve  got  to  hounds  in 
the  regiment,  not  being  able  to  throw  your  heart  into  your  favorite 
song!  Why,  old  chap,  you’ve  ground  out  * John  Peel  ’ to-night  as 
if  you  were  a barrel-organ.” 

“Well,”  replied  Clayford,  “1  suppose  we  can’t  always  be  in 
high  spirits.  You  know  1 didn’t  want  to  sing  ‘ John  Peel,’  and 
for  the  best  of  all  possible  reasons,  1 didn’t  feel  up  to  it.  1 don’t 
suppose  such  a wet  blanket  as  I feel  to-night  ought  ever  to  have 


10 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


come  to  mess;  but  hang  it  all,  Tom,  I couldn’t  be  absent  from  our 
last  mess  party.  We  all  feel  hipped  at  times,  and  this  happens  to 
be  one  of  the  days  when  1 am  off  color.'*  ^ 

Tom  Leader  looked  at  his  friend  for  a moment,  and  then  said: 

1 tell  you  what  it  is,  old  fellow,  the  fun  here  is  about  over  for  the 
present.  You  and  1 will  just  drop  down  the  hill  and  look  in  at  the 
theater  for  an  hour  or  two.  They  tell  me  they’ve  got*  something 
rather  funny  on,  and  we’ll  be  back  here  in  time  tor  a grilled  bone 
apd  a last  cigar.” 

“ Done  with  you,  Tom,”  rejoined  Clayford,  as  he  rose;  ”1*11 
just  walk  across  to  my  rooms  and  scribble  a couple  of  notes  that 
1 *want  to  go  by  the  early  post,  and  be  back  in  half  an  hour  at  the 
outside.”  And  with  this  the  young  man,  running  through  a gant- 
let of  chaff  about  his  early  desertion,  left  the  room. 

The  band  had  been  dismissed,  the  singing  had  for  the  time  died 
away,  and  the  revelers  were  consuming  their  tobacco  over  coffee, 
erratic  whist,  dind  perhaps  still  more  erratic  conversation,  when 
suddenly  one  of  the  whist  players  paused,  with  the  cards  suspended 
in  his  hand,  and  exclaimed,  ” Surely  that  was  a shot!” 


I'he  card  players  stopped  and  pricked  up  their  ears,  but  the  bab- 
ble at  the  other  end  of  the  room  rather  precluded  the  hearing  of 
anything  but  a very  pronounced  sound. 

“ By  Jove!”  exclaimed  one  of  them,  I think  1 heard  a shot 
then.  What’s  the  use  of  bothering  our  heads?  it’s  either  some  boys 
or  pack  of  young  roughs  larking  at  the  back  of  the  citadel.  The 
young  beggars  have  got  into  the  bottom  of  tne  ditch,  most  likely. 
Go  on,  Torrens,  you  to  play.  Put  down  that  card  that  you’ve  been 
keeping  hanging  over  our  heads,  like  the  sword  of  Damocles;  it’s 
the  ace  ot  trumps  for  a sovereign.” 

Suddenly  there  was  a sharp  knock  at  the  door  of  the  anteroom, 
and  almost  without  waiting  for  permission  to  enter,  the  sergeant 
ot  the  guard  made  his  appearance.  “ 

“Beg  pardon,  gentlemen;  1 want  to  see  Captain  Lockyer,  the 
captain  of  the  day.  There  has  been  murder  done,  gentlemen,  and 
1 want  his  instructions  about  what  I’m  to  do.” 


In  an  instant  the  whist  table  was  broke  up.  Conversation  stopped, 
cigars  \lere  put  upon  one  side;  the  whole  room  was  on  its  feet  at 
the  omihous  word  “ murder,”  and  all  eagerly  crowded  forward  to 
hear  wh^t  Sergeant  Blane  had  to  tell. 

Captaljn  Lockyer  had  promptly  responded  to  his  name.  One  of 
the  whis^  players,  a gaunt,  grizzled  veteran, who  was  senior  major  of 


STRUCK  DOWN.  11 

tbe  re^:iment,  stepped  forward  and  said  curtly:  “ Tell  your  story  to 
me,  Blane;  who’s  been  murdered,  and  where?” 

” Mr.  Clayford,  sir;  he’s  lying  dead  in  his  own  quarters,  and  the 
revolver  which  killed  him  is  lying  by  liis  side.” 

“ You’ve  sent  for  the  doctor,  of  course?” 

“ Yes,  sir,”  replied  the  sergeant,  ” and  put  a senliy  on  the  door; 
but  still  I'm  afraid  it’s  little  any  doctor  can  do  for  Mr.  Clayford, 
I’ve  seen  many  a dead  man  before,  sir,  and  1 fear  there  can  be  no 
mistake  about  his  case.” 

” Get  your  cap,  Lockyer;  you  and  1 must  walk  across  and  inves- 
tigate this  at  once.” 

“Good  God!  it’s  too  horrible,”  burst  from  Tom  Leader’s  lips; 
“ why,  his  song  is  hardly  out  of  our  ears,  and  to  think  poor  Char- 
lie Clayford  is  now  lying  dead  within  about  two  hundred  yards  of 
us!” 

“ His  revolver  lying  by  the  side  of  him,”  said  another.  “Jt  is 
curious,”  and  his  voice  dropped  as  he  murmured,  ” he  can’t  have 
been  his  own  murderer,  surely.” 

By  this  time.  Major  Griffith  and  Lockyer  had  left  the  room,  and 
the  others  continued  to  discuss  their  comrade’s  death  with  bated 
breath.  All  revelry  and  mirth  had  died  out  of  tbe  party,  as  well  it 
might.  A favorite  brother  officer  snatched  from  them  in  such  ter- 
rible and  unexpected  fashion,  was  enough  to  make  the  most  reckless 
serious. 

“ Leader,  you  were  perhaps  more  a pal  of  his  than  any  of  us.  Do 
you  think  he  was  in  trouble  or  difficulty  of  any  kind?” 

“ Certainly  not,  that  I know  of,”  replied  Tom;  “ but  poor  Char- 
lie was  always  rather  a reserved  man,  and,  as  you  Know,  amused 
himself  a great  deal  with  that  boat  he  keeps  down  on  the  Bar.  I’ve 
been  out  with  him  two  or  three  times;  but  sailing  about  the  Sound 
is  slow  work  to  my  mind,  as  i suppose  it  was  to  most  of  the  rest  of 
you,  for  I don’t  think  that  any  one  but  myself  has  ever  had  a turn 
with  him.” 

“ But  surely  he  had  somebody  else  with  him  to  help  manage  the 
boat?”  remarked  another  of  the  group. 

“Yes,  he  had  the  sailor  who  took  charge  of  it.  Poor  Charlie,  you 
know,  was  a very  good  seaman  himself,  and  the  two  of  them  were 
ample.” 

At  this  juncture  Major  Griffith  and  Lockyer,  accompanied  by  the 
regimental  surgeon,  iieturned. 

“It  is  only  too  true,”  said  the  major,  solemnly.  “Poor  Clay^ 
ford  is  lying  on  the  floor  of  his  barrack-room,  quite  dead.  His 


12 


STRUCK  DOW^T. 


blotling-book  is  open  on  the  table,  and  the  ink  is  hardly  dry  on  his 
pen.  Ihe  doctor  here  will  tell  you  ,more  about  it,  however,  than  1 
can.’' 

“ Yes,”  replied  the  surgeon,  “the  poor  fellow  has  two  bullet 
wounds,  one  of  which  would  probably  have  caused  death.  From 
the  other,  death  must  have  been  instantaneous.  How  it  has  all 
come  about  is,  of  course,  a complete  mystery  for  the  present:  and  a 
thing,  1 should  think  it  would  be,  for  the  police  to  unravel.  All 
we  have  ascertained  so  far  is  that  the  sentry  at  the  back  of  the  oflS- 
cers’  quarters  heard  the  two  shots,  and  passed  the  word  down  to  the 
guard-room.  Sergeant  Blane  instantly  sent  the  corporal  and  a file 
of  men  to  patrol  that  way,  and  see  if  there  was  anything  amiss;  but 
they  heard  or  saw  nothing.  The  discovery  was  made  by  the  poor 
fellow’s  servant,  who,  having  occasion  to  go  into  the  room,  found 
his  master  stretched  lifeless  on  the  carpet,  and  at  once  gave  the 
alarm.  There  has  naturally  been  no  time  to  make  much  inquiry; 
but  there  is  one  singular  circumstance,  namely,  that  the  revolver,  of 
which  two  chambers  have  been  emptied,  and  with  which  the  fatal 
wounds  were  doubtless  inflicted,  has  been  abandoned  by  the  assas- 
sin. It  is  an  instinct  with  most  murderers  to  make  away  if  possible 
with  the  weapon  with  which  their  crime  was  committed.” 

An  awe-struck  silence  fell  over  the  whole  room,  and  sad  glances 
were  exchanged  among  the  men.  The  surgeon  saw  in  their  faces 
the  thought  that  possessed  them. 

“No,”  he  exclaimed,  “we  have  certainly  no  right  to  come  to 
that  conclusion  at  present,  till,  in  conjunction  with  two  or  three  of 
my  colleagues,  1 have  made  a more  thorough  examination.  It 
would  be  premature  to  offer  my  opinion  as  to  whether  the  injuries 
were  self-inflicted.  But  this,  1 presume,  is  a fact  that  can  very 
easily  be  corroborated.  His  servant  declares  that  the  pistol  was  not 
the  property  of  his  master;  and,  indeed,  that  poor  Clayford  did  not 
own  such  a weapon.  ” 

“Well,”  rep'ied  Leader,  “ Jennings  has  been  his  servant  for  the 
last  three  years,  and  is  no  doubt  thoroughly  acquainted  with  all 
poor  Charlie’s  belongings;  besides,  1 certainly  have  good  reason  to 
think  that  he  did  not  own  a revolver,  as  1 know  he  has  ordered  one 
expressly  to  take  out  for  this  campaign.” 

“ Ah!  it’s  hardly  likely,”  said  the  major,  thoughtfully,  “ that  ^ 
man  who  possessed  an  excellent  revolver  like  the  one  found  woul^ 
want  to  get  another.  However,  we’ve  done  all  there  is  to  be  donef 
to-night;  we  have  locked  up  his  quarters,  and  sent  messages  down^ 
both  to  tlie  police  and  the  general  to  say  what  has  occurred.  There 


STRUCK  DOYfK. 


13 


will  have  to  be  an  inquest  to-morrow^  and  perhaps  that  will  throw 
some  liajht  on  the  mystery.  And  now,  lads,  I’m  off  tio  bed.  1 don’t 
suppose  any  of  you  tvill  have  more  heart  to  make  a night  of  it  than 
1 have.  Good-nig:ht!”  and  with  these  wmrds  the  major  left  the 
room.  The  remainder  of  the  group  continued  to  converse  for  some 
time  longer.  Many  a reminiscence  of  their  dead  comrade’s  good 
qualities  was  evoked.  The  man  on  whose  grave  his  acquaintances 
are  ready  to  cast  stones  instead  of  floral  tributes  must  have  made 
himself  strangely  unpopular  during  his  career.  As  a rule,  1 fancy, 
men  are  never  judged  more  kindly  than  in  the  first  days  succeeding 
their  decease.  Charlie  Clayford,  in  spite  of  a certain  reticence  of 
character,  had  been  an  undouhtedly  popular  man  in  his  regiment, 
and  his  sudden  and  mysterious  death  awoke  much  sympathy  and 
sorrow  among  his  brother  officers. 


CHAPTER  111. 

THE  CORONER’S  INQUEST. 

The  news  of  the  crime  spread  mysteriously  through  Plymouth  in 
the  course  of  the  night,  and  the  more  enterprising  reporters  of  the 
local  journals  were  in  the  citadel  shortly  after  the  reveille  had  rung 
out.  The  morning  papers  contained  a few  lines  giving  notice  of 
the  shocking  murder  of  an  officer  in  the  citadel,  and  promising  fur- 
ther particulars  in  a later  edition.  As  the  rumor  spread,  and  some 
meager  particulars  concerning  it  leaked  out,  public  excitement  began 
to  be  aroused.  The  police  naturally  kept  their  opinion  to  them’ 
selves,  but  it  was  whispered  that  the  midday  train  had  brought  an 
eminemt  officer  from  Scotland  Yard,  while  it  was  known  that  the 
night  mail  had  brought  down  a couple  of  reporters  from  leading 
tiondon  journals.  There  was  something  romantic  about  an  officer 
being  murdered  in  his  own  barracks,  and  already  speculation  was 
rife  in  the  London  clubs  about  how  the  dead  man  came  to  his  end. 
Bad  he  been  killed  by  his  own  men?  Was  it  robbery?  That  an 
officer  should  be  murdered  is  in  modern  days  a case  almost  with- 
out parrdlel,  and  then  the  club  cynics  shook  their  heads,  and  over 
their  seltzer  and  cognac  in  the  smoking-room,  muttered,  “ CTiercliez 
la  femme."'  Jealousy  has  brought  about  strange  things  before  now 

The  next  day  came  the  coroner’s  inquest.  Jennings,  Clay  ford’s 
servant,  who  was  the  first  witness  examined,  deposed  to  going  into 
his  master’s  room  to  put  it  finally  to  rights  previous  to  going  to  his 
own  bed,  and  thereby  discovering  Lieutenant  Clayford  stretched 


14 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


lifeless  on  the  carpet.  There  was  a clisc^harged  revolver  lyin^:  by  his 
side,  which  he  picked  up  and  laid  upon  the  table;  was  perfectly 
certain  that  the  pistol  was  not  his  master's  property.  He  had  never 
had  a pistol  of  any  sort  since  he  had  been  in  his  service;  liad  been 
with  the  deceased  three  years,  and  packed  the  whole  of  his  baggage 
four  times  in  that  period;  was  pertectly  certain  he  did  not  possess  a 
pistol ; could  not  say  where  it  was  now,  but  the  police  took  posses- 
sion ot  it,  and  he  supposed  had  it  still. 

Then  came  the  sentry’s  evidence,  who  was  on  the  ramparts  in  the 
rear  of  the  officers’  quarters.  He  deposed  distinctly  to  having  heaid 
two  shots,  was  quite  certain  about  there  being  two  shots,  and  that 
they  came  in  quick  succession.  He  passed  the  word  to  the  next 
sentry,  with  a view  to  its  being  passed  again  till  it  arrived  at  the 
guard-room,  and  that  was  all  he  knew  on  the  subject. 

Sergeant  Blane  deposed  that  he  sent  a corporal  and  a file  of  the 
guard  to  see  if  there  was  anything  wrong,  but  they  saw  nothing 
and  discovered  no  strangers  about;  and  it  was  not  until  apprised  by 
Private  Jennings  of  the  murder  of  Mr.  Claytord  that  he  proceeded 
at  once  to  place  a sentry  over  the  quarters,  to  send  for  the  surgeon, 
and  report  the  circumstance  to  the  captain  of  the  day. 

Major  Griffith  and  Captain  Lockyer  simply  deposed  to  having  been 
summoned  to  the  spot,  but  acknowledged  their  inability  to  throw 
any  light  on  the  subject. 

Then  came  the  medical  evidence,  and  the  regimental  surgeon  and 
Iwo  of  his  confreres  gave  evidence  concerning  the  bullet-wounds. 
That  these  had  been  the  cause  of  death  there  can  be  no  doubt.  The 
interest  attaching  to  their  evidence  was  contained  in  the  question, 
Could  the  dead  man,  by  any  possibility,  have  died  by  his  own  hand? 
They  differed  a little  in  their  Opinion  about  that,  but  agreed  on  one 
point,  that  without  absolutely  declaring  it  was  impossible,  they  cer- 
tainly did  not  think  so.  In  their  judgment  the  shots  had  been  fired 
by  another  hand. 

And  now  came  the  sensation  of  the  inquiry.  That  as  many  peo- 
ple as  could  obtain  admittance  were  present  at  the  back  ot  the  room 
was  to  be  expected,  and  in  the  fr'^nt  of  their  ranks  were  several  ot 
the  dead  man’s  brother  officers.  They  had  a natural  claim  to  hear 
the  proceedings,  which  .had  been  thoroughly  acknowledged  by  the 
coroner.  The  police  now  produced  the  pistol  with  which  the  crime 
had  been  accomplished.  It  was  a very  handsome  one  and  a rather 
remarkable  weapon — a saw-handled  Dean  and  Adams’s  five-cham- 
bered revolver.  Of  the  chambers,  as  the  police  pointed  out,  three 
were  still  loaded  and  two  had  evidently  been  recently  discharged. 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


15 


Jennings  was  recalled,  and  at  once  swore  unhesitatingly  that  that 
was  the  pistol  he  had  picked  up  by  his  master’s  body  and  placed 
upon  the  table,  adding,  in  reply  to  a question  by  the  coroner,  that 
he  had  never  seen  it  before. 

“That  pistol  should  hang  the  no  an  that  used  it,”  remarked  a 
quiet,  plainly  dressed  man  in  the  body  of  the  room.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  least  striking  about  his  personal  appearance,  indeed, 
he  was  a man  you  might  pass  anywhere  without  his  attracting  your 
attention;  but  he  seemed  interested  in  the  proceedings,  and  werl  he 
might  be,  for  he  had  been  sent  down  specially  from  Scotland  Yard 
to  watch  the  inquiry. 

“ When  you’ve  a weapon  like  that  to  deal  with,”  muttered  In- 
spector Pollock  to  himself,  “ you  have  something  to  go  upon.  A 
pistol  turned  out  by  well-known  makers  will  naturally  have  the 
number  on  it.  It  is  easy  to  trace  where  it  went  when  it  left  their 
shop,  and  with  a little  trouble  it  should  be  tracked  to  the  very  hand 
that  used  it.” 

Inspector  Pollock’s  theory  was  destined  to  be  demolished  almost 
as  quickly  as  it  had  been  formed.  Among  the  officers  watching  the 
proceedings  with  painful  interest  was  Tom  Leader.  He  started 
slightly  when  he  saw  the  pistol,  and  stepping  forward  said  to  the 
coroner: 

“ Will  you  allow  me  to  look  at  that  pistoi  for  a minute?  1 think 
1 can  give  you  some  possibly  useful  information.”  His  request  was 
immediately  complied  with,  and  the  revolver  put  into  his  hands. 
He  examined  it  attentively,  and  then,  considerably  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  court,  said:  “ This  pistol  is  my  property.  1 bought 
it  rather  more  than  a year  ago  in  London  from  the  makers;  it  has 
never  been  out  of  my  possession,  and  to  the  best  of  my  belief  was 
hanging  in  its  case  from  a peg  in  my  barrack -room.” 

Further  questioned  by  the  coroner.  Leader  said  that  it  was  kept 
unloaded,  and,  what  was  more,  that  he  had  no  cartridges  with  which 
to  load  it  in  his  possession.  Inspector  Pollock  showed  great  interest 
in  this  part  of  the  proceedings.  It  seemed  now  that  the  pistol  must 
have  been  stolen  from  Leader’s  room,  and  the  questions  that  arose 
in  the  officer’s  mind  were,  who  was  likely  to  have  had  facilities  for 
so  doing?  and,  more  important  still,  when  had  it  been  stolen? 

“ Then  you  have  never  missed  the  pistol,  Mr.  Leader?”  inquired 
tne  coroner. 

“ No,”  replied  Tom,  “ 1 larely  looked  at  it.  My  servant  will  b6 
more  likely  to  be  able  to  tell  you  about  it  than  me,  as  he  had  orders 


16 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


to  take  it  down  occasionally  to  see  if  it  wanted  cleaning,  and  1 pre- 
sume did  so.*' 

“ Is  he  here?"  was  the  next  question  asked  by  the  coroner. 

But  no.  Mr.  Leader's  servant  was  not  in  court,  and  it  was  quite 
evident  that  the  investigation  could  hardly  be  deemed  complete 
without  his  evidence.  However,  the  production  of  this  man  was  a 
simple  question  of  time.  They  had  simply  to  send  from  the  hotel 
in  which  the  inquest  was  being  held  up  to  the  barracks  and  tell 
Private  Simmons  that  his  presence  was  required  at  the  Royal. 
Meantime  they  might  adjourn  for  an  hour. 

The  hour  was  passed  by  the  court  in  the  consumption  of  refresh- 
ments. The  officers  of  the  — th  were  perfectly  astounded  at  the 
turn  things  had  taken,  and  Tom  Leader  dashed  up  to  the  citadel  at 
a pace  that  would  have  made  the  Ireenest  deer-stalker  that  ever 
breasted  hill  in  Highland  forest  stand  still.  He  ran  across  the  bar- 
rack square  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him,  rushed  into  his  room 
and  took  down  the  revolver-case.  He  recognized  at  once  that  it 
was  empty.  The  opening  of  it  was  a mere  matter  of  form. 

Now,  before  Leader  had  left  the  court-house  he  had  been  called 
aside  by  his  colonel,  who  was  present  among  the  rest. 

" You  are  going  up,"  said  the  chief,  no  doubt  to  see  if  that  pis- 
tol is  gone.  1 have  just  been  spoken  to  by  an  official  from  Scotland 
Yard,  wlio  has  made  it  a particular  request  that  you  will  not  see  your 
servant  before  he  is  brought  here;  he  has  also  further  desired  that, 
if  possible,  he  should  have  no  intimation  of  what  has  taken  place  in 
court  or  tor  what  he  is  wanted." 

Tom  Leader  naturally  complied  with  his  chief’s  hint,  and,  it  so 
happened,  accident  favors  Inspector  Pollock,  and  Simmons,  when 
he  was  brought  forward  to  give  evidence,  had  no  idea  of  what  had 
transpired  in  the  course  of  the  proceedings. 

Questioned  about  the  pistol,  the  inspector,  watching  him  keenly, 
noted  that  Simmons  first  looked  considerably  puzzled.  He  evidently 
did  not  understand  what  bearing  this  could  possibly  ha^e  on  the 
fluestion  in  hand. 

" Was  that  his  master's  pistol?" 

"Yes,  he  believed  so— it  was,  at  all  events,  exactly  like  it." 

" When  did  he  see  it  last?" 

" He  could  hardly  say  for  certain;  but  a week  or  ten  days  ago  he 
took  it  out  and  cleaned  it,  and  supposed  it  was  still  hanging  up  in 
Mr.  Leader's  room.  Was  accustomed  to  clean  it  about  once  a 
week." 

" Was  it  loaded  when  he  last  put  it  away?" 


STRUCK  DOWIT.^  17 

“ Certainly  not.  Was  perfectly  positive  on  that  point.  It  had 
never  been  kepi  loaded  since  his  master  had  had  it.’’ 

“ Had  his  master  any  cartridges  in  his  quarters?” 

For  an  instant  the  n..an  looked  puzzled.  He  hesitated  a little, 
and  Inspector  Pollock  keenly  noted  the  same. 

‘M  don’t  know  whether  lie  did  it,”  thought  the  inspector; 

probably  not,  but  this  question  certainly  bothers  him.” 

‘’No,”  replied  Simmons,  after  a minute’s  -thought,  “there  was 
not  a single  cartridge  in  my  master’s  rooms,  nor  has  there  ever  been 
one.” 

The  jury  looked  puzzled,  the  coroner  aparently  was  also  taken 
somewhat  aback  by  the  turn  things  had  taken.  As  for  Inspector 
Pollock,  he  quietly  muttered  to  himself:  “ This  promises  to  be 
rather  an  interesting  conundrum.  1 have  an  idea  that  fellow  Sim^ 
mons  is  somehow  not  telling  the  truth,  quite.  1 wonder  if  he  knew 
that  revolver  was  lost,  or  more  probable  still,  having  forgotten  to 
attend  to  it  for  the  last  month,  is  rather  afraid  of  confessing  his 
negligence?” 

“ In  short,”  resumed  the  coroner,  turning  sharply  to  the  wit> 
ness,  “ you  had  no  knowledge  of  the  disappearance  of  your  master’s 
revolver,  are  perfectly  sure  it  was  unloaded  when  you  last  saw  it, 
and  are  quite  certain  that  there  never  were  any  cartridges  in  your 
master’s  possession?” 

“ Never  during  the  three  years  1 have  been  his  servant,”  replied 
Simmons,  and  tliis  time  without  a moment’s  hesitation. 

One  or  two  of  the  witnesses  were  recalled.  Mr,  Leader  was  re- 
examined for  one,  also  the  sentry  in  rear  of  the  officers’  quarters, 
and  Sergeant  Plane;  but  no  fresh  tact  was  elicited.  No  one  could 
recollect  seeing  any  stranger  loitering  about  the  vicinity  of  the 
officers’  quarters  on  that  evening  at  that  time:  and  then  the  coroner 
proceeded  to  sum  up. 

It  seemed  to  him,  he  said,  that  there  could  be  little  doubt  that  the 
deceased  came  to  his  end  by  wounds  inflicted  from  the  discharge  of 
Mr.  Leader’s  pistol.  He  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  call  upon 
that  gentleman  for  any  account  of  his  whereabouts  on  that  evening 
— it  being  well  known  that  the  majority  of  his  brother  officers  could 
testify  to  his  being  present  in  the  mess  apartments  at  the  time  the 
crime  was  committed.  Who  had  taken  Mr.  Leader’s  revolver  from 
his  room,  and  w/ien,  they  had  no  evidence  before  them  to  determine, 
but  granted — which  there  seemed  little  reason  to  doubt — it  had  been 
extracted  some  days  previously,  the  assassin  had  doubtless  no  ditfi' 
culty  in  procuring  cartridges  to  fit  a revolver  by  such  well-known 


18 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


makers  as  Dean  & Adams.  As  for  Private  Simmons,  he  could  doubt- 
less account  for  where  he  was  upon  that  unfortunate  evening.  It 
appeared  to  him  that  the  revolver  had  undoubtedly  been  stolen  some 
da^^s  previously  and  used  against  Mr.  Clayford  by  some  one  thor- 
oughly conversant  with  his  movements,  and  for  some  occult  reason, 
which  it  would  be  for  others  to  determine.  The  only  other  view  of 
the  case  which  could  possibly  be  sustained  was  that  tne  unfortunate 
gentleman  had  committed  suicide.  The  medical  evidenee  was 
directly,  though  perhaps  not  conclusively  against  this— -nor  had  the 
slightest  motive  been  adduced  for  suggesting  the  rash  act.  If  the 
jury  would  consent  to  be  guided  by  him,  they  would  return  a ver- 
dict of  “ Willful  Murder  ” against  some  person  or  persons  unknown. 

After  some  tew  minutes’  consideration  the  jury  came  to  the  same 
conclusion  as  the  coroner,  and  registered  their  decision  that  Cuarles 
Clayford,  Lieutenant  in  Her  Majesty’s  ~th  Infantry,  came  to  his 
death  by  Willful  Murder,  the  perpetrators  of  which  had  yet  to  be 
discovered. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

INSPECTOR  POLLOCK. 

That  the  day’s  proceedings  would  be  discussed  over  and  over 
again,  both  in  the  officers’  quarters  and  in  the  barrack-rooms,  was 
only  to  be  expected.  Simmons,  again  cross-examined  by  his  mas- 
ter, said  he  could  not  be  quite  sure  as  to  when  he  had  last  seen  the 
revolver  in  its  case.  He  had  thought  about  cleaning  it  again  only 
the  day  before  the  murder.  Questioned  by  his  colonel,  he  was  quite 
positive  it  had  not  been  loaded  when  he  saw  it  last.  The  whole 
thing  seemed  a mystery.  There  was  no  apparent  motive  for  the 
murder  of  any  description.  The  dead  man’s  watch— the  rings  on 
his  fingers — the  loose  money  in  his  pockets— even  a note-case  con- 
taining four  or  five  bank-notes,  which  was  lying  on  the  mantel-piece, 
were  all  there.  It  seemed  clear  that  robbery  had  not  been  the  as- 
sassin’s object.  The  committee  of  officers  who  assisted,  with  Sim- 
mons, to  examine  his  property  pending  such  time  as  some  one  or 
other  of  his  relatives  should  arrive,  reported  that  nothing  was 
missing,  and  all  conjecture  as  to  who  had  slain  poor  Clayford,  and 
for  what  reason,  baffled  all  conjecture.  At  Leader’s  suggestion  a 
general  overhauling  of  their  quarters  was  made  by  the  officers,  with 
a view  of  seeing  if  anybody  else  had  been  plundered,  Tom  thinking 
it  was  just  possible  that,  if  robbery  had  been  the  object,  the  thief 
might  have  cleared  out  light  valuables  from  one  or  two  other  rooms 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


19 


And  then  been  detected  just  as  he  was  about  to  pick  up  what  prop- 
erty he  could  in  his  (Clayford's)  room ; but  no,  the  sole  thing  miss- 
ing was  the  pistol  which  had  been  taken  from  the  one  room  and 
found  in  the  other. 

How  loaded  and  why  loaded?  this  was  a problem  that  seemed 
inscrutable.  An  ordinaiy  thief  could  scarcely  have  calculated  on 
finding  the  pistol  at  all.  Nor  was  it  likely  that  it  would  enter  his 
head  to  bring  cartridges  for  it  in  his  pocket.  True,  there  were 
plenty  of  cases  in  which  the  burglar,  disturbed  in  his  avocation,  had 
not  hesitated  to  take  life  to  insure  his  own  safety;  but  then  this  was 
invariably  a professional  burglar,  and  he  brought  his  own  revolver. 
Now,  a barrack,  except  perhaps  the  police  office,  was  the  last  place 
that  a professional  burglar  would  have  ever  dreamed  of  exercising 
his  talent  on.  No,  it  did  not  require  to  be  skilled  in  ihe  investiga- 
tion of  crime  to  come  to  lhat  conclusion;  but  when  they  had  settled 
that,  whatever  the  motive  for  the  murder,  it  was  not  robbery,  the 
officers  of  the  — Ih  had  got  to  the  end  of  their  speculation.  Fur- 
ther, they  were  like  men  who  groped  in  ulter  darkness. 

But  there  had  been  a gentleman  up  to  solicit  a private  interview 
with  Major  Griffith,  who  was  at  that  time  in  command  of  the  regi- 
ment, owing  to  the  temporary  absence  of  the  colonel,  and  whose 
life  was  passed  in  unraveling  mysteries  of  this  description.  Inspector 
Pollock  had  entirely  dismissed  robbery  from  his  mind  at  the  inquest 
Having  introduced  himself  to  (he  major,  he  had  requested  leave  to 
first  of  all  lake  a thorough  examination  of  the  quarters  in  which  the 
crime  had  occurred. 

“ 1 don't  want  to  disturb  anything,  sir ; and  it  will  take  me  a very 
short  time  to  see  all  1 want;  but  the  whole  plan  of  the  rooms  is  an 
assistance  to  a professional  like  myself.  We  see  things,  for  in- 
stance, which  an  untrained  eye  is  apt  to  overlook.  1 presume  these 
quarters  only  consist  of  two  or  three  rooms?" 

“Of  two  small  rooms  on  the  ground-floor  communicating  with 
each  other,  with  a servant’s  kitchen  on  the  basement.  There  is  one 
similar  set  of  quarters  overhead.  The  officers'  quarters,  as  you  will 
see,  are  a low  range  of  little  houses  all  similar  to  that." 

“ Adjoining,  1 suppose,  like  houses  in  a terrace,  but  with  no  com- 
munication between  them?" 

“ Quite  so;  to  get  from  one  to  the  other  you  would  have  to  go 
either  out  of  the  front  door,  or  the  back  door." 

“ Ah!"  said  the  inspector,  “ there  is  a bacR  door  and  a front  door. 
1 have  had  a rough  look  at  the  place  before  1 came  to  speak  to  you. 
The  front  door,  1 notice,  looks  out  on  the  barrack  square.  1 pre- 


20 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


sume,  till  quite  a late  hour,  there  will  be  always  people  moving 
more  or  less  in  the  front?” 

“ Quite  possible,”  replied  the  major;  ‘‘though  after  ten  o’clock 
there  would  not  in  all  probability  be  many  people  about.” 

“ And  at  the  back?”  inquired  the  inspector. 

“ Hardly  so,  1 should  think.  You  see  the  last  post  goes  at  half- 
past nine;  we  allow  no  strangers  round  the  ramparts  or  in  the  citadel 
after  that,  and  though  there  may  be  a sprinkling  of  servants  of  one 
sort  or  another  who  don’t  proceed  to  their  beds  until  later,  there 
would  be  very  few  of  them  who  would  come  out  the  hack  way.” 

And  in  the  shadow  of  the  buildings  it  would  be  easy  for  any 
one  to  escape  the  observation  of  the  sentry?” 

‘ ‘ 1 should  think  so,  but  he  would  have  to  pass  the  citadel  gate, 
and  Sergeant  Blane,  who  was  in  chaige  of  the  guard  that  night,  is 
one  of  our  smartest  non-commissioned  officers,  and  would  be  very 
unlikely  to  let  a man  through  before  gun-fire  who  could  not  give  a 
satisfactory  account  of  himself.” 

Inspector  Pollock  buried  his  face  in  his  handkerchief  to  conceal 
the  smile  that  the  idea  of  an  astute  criminal  not  being  too  much  for 
the  sharpest  non-commissioned  officer  in  Her  Majesty ’s  service  caused 
him. 

‘‘  And  Mr.  Leader’s  quarters,  were  they  in  the  same  house,  sir?” 
he  inquired. 

” Ko;  they  are  in  the  next  house,”  replied  the  major. 

“Thank  you,  sir.  1 will  just  have  a good  look  at  the  rooms 
then;  and  there  is  only  one  more  favor  I have  to  ask.” 

“ What  is  that?”  asked  the  major. 

“ Somebody,  of  course,  will  examine  the  effects  of  Mr.  Clayford. 
If  it  is  possible  1 should  like  to  assist  at  the  examination.  The  clew 
1 want  may  very  likely  exist  among  his  papers,  though  the  gentle- 
man who  looks  through  them  would  probably  never  suspect  it.” 

“ Well,  inspector,”  rejoined  the  major,  “ I’ll  do  vhat  1 can  for 
you.  Our  custom  here  is,  that  three  of  the  senior  officers  make  a 
sort  of  inventory  of  the  deceased’s  effects,  and  1 don’t  think  that  1 
have  any  right  to  let  you  be  present  at  that;  you  see  poor  Clayford ’s 
relatives  have  of  course  been  written  to,  and  it  will  be  for  them  to 
look  through  his  papers  and  that  sort  of  thing.  You  shall  know  of 
their  arrival  at  once,  and  1 will  put  your  request  before  them,  hut  I 
think  the  decision  must  be  left  to  them.  If  they  choose  to  show 
you  any  letters  or  papers  he  has  left  behind  him,  well  and  good; 
but  they  aie  the  people  to  give  such  permission,  not  1.” 

“ Quite  so,  sir,”  rejoined  Inspector  Pollock.  “ 1 have  a few  in- 


STBUCK  DOWN. 


21 


quiries  to  make,  which  will  certainly  detain  me  here  tor  the  next 
two  or  thiee  days.  One  thing  more,  sir!  Perhaps  you  would  not 
mention  my  being  here  at  all,  more  than  is  absolutely  necessary. 
Good-morning,  sir!”  and  with  that  Inspector  Pollock  left  the  major’s 
quarters  in  that  quiet  abrupt,  noiseless  manner  which  'was  one  of 
his  characteristics  both  on  entering  and  leaving  any  place.  He  had 
a knack  of  appearing  in  this  noiseless  fashion  when  least  expected, 
and  of  disappearing  again  with  startling  and  cat-like  abruptness. 

Mr.  Pollock  lost  no  time;  he  w^as  over  and  examining  the  scene 
of  the  murder  in  less  than  ten  minutes.  Not  a door,  not  a window, 
not  a bolt,  not  a bar,  not  a corner,  not  a detail  of  the  furniture,  es- 
caped his  keen  scrutiny.  By  the  time  he  had  finished  he  could  have 
catalogued  the  whole  of  the  latter  as  if  he  had  been  a broker’s  man. 
He  was  down  in  the  basement,  casting  shrewd  looks  at  the  boot- 
trees,  and  even  eying  the  blacking-bottles  "with  curiosity.  He  as- 
cended to  the  quarters  overhead,  and  their  occupant  having  already 
left  them  in  search  of  breakfast,  he  had  ample  time  to  take  stock  of 
them;  then  he  asked,  “ was  it  possible  to  just  have  a look  at  Mr„ 
Leader’s  quarters?”  That  officer  wsls  in;  hut  on  learning  that  a 
gentleman  wished  to  see  him,  promptly  desired  that  he  should  be 
shown  in.  Briefly  Mr.  Pollock  explained  that  he  came  on  behalf 
of  the  police— though  that  he  was  of  the  London  police  he  retrained 
from  mentioning.  However,  that  was  quite  sufficient  for  Tom, 
who  immediately  offered  him  every  facility  for  investigation.  How- 
ever, the  inspector  contented  himself  with  a very  brief  glance  round 
the  rooms,  and  even  when  shown  the  case  from  which  the  revolver 
was  missing,  and  which  was  still  hanging  in  its  accustomed  place, 
seemed  very  little  interested.  He  did  not  ask  to  see  the  basement  or 
the  quarters  overhead.  Mr.  Pollock,  in  short,  had  ascertained  all 
he  wanted  to  know — namely,  that  Mr.  Leader's  quarters  were  the 
fac-simile  of  the  dead  man’s. 

As  he  walked  away  Mr.  Pollock  shook  his  head.  “ This  is  about 
as  blind  a case,”  he  muttered,  “ so  far,  as  ever  1 started  on.  That 
fellow  Simmons  has  to  be  reckoned  up  as  a matter  of  course.  Easy 
enough,  1 take  it,  to  get  at  the  character  he  bears  in  the  regiment, 
and  whether  Mr.  Clayford  could  have  ever  incurred  his  animosit;^. 
Next,  if  they  will  only  show  me  any  of  the  dead  man’s  papers  that 
1 may  ask  to  see — upon  getting  a general  idea  of  their  contents,  it’s 
on  the  cards,  something  might  come  out  of  that,  1 should  think 
an  officer’s  papers  of  his  rank  would  be  very  soon  run  through.  A 
few  letters,  a few  bills,  receipted  or  otherwise,  and  a few  memo- 
randa, would  be  all  he  would  be  likely  to  have.  There  are  very  few 


22 


STBUCK  DOWK. 


men  but  what  Jeave  letters  behind  them.  Yes;  a glimpse  at  his 
might  throw  a light  upon  his  death.  I’d  give  something  to  know 
what  sort  of  man  this  relative  of  his  will  be.” 

For  the  next  two  days  Inspector  Pollock  was  indefatigable,  and 
the  information  he  contrived  to  acquire  in  that  forty-eight  hours 
would  have  dumfounded  Major  Griffith  and  his  officers,  to  whom 
the  crime  seemed  utterly  inscrutable,  and  astonished  the  Plymouth 
police  not  a little.  But  Mr,  Pollock  kept  his  information  strictly 
to  himself.  He  turned  up  unexpectedly  at  all  sorts  of  places.  He 
had  made  his  way  into  the  sergeants’  mess,  and  knew  Private 
Simmons’s  character  quite  as  well  as  his  captain  did.  He  had  as- 
certained that  he  was  rather  a slovenly  soldier  on  parade,  and  had 
two  or  three  times  been  brought  up  rather  sharply  by  Mr.  Clayford 
for  that  ofiense.  He  had  very  soon  got  at  the  fact  of  the  dead 
man’s  passion  for  boating,  lhat  was  quite  hint  enough  tor  Mr. 
Pollock;  he  was  down  upon  the  Bar  as  quick  as  possible.  He  had 
found  out  the  boat,  and  the  sailor  in  charge  of  it,  in  a very  short 
time.  Mr.  Pollock  knew  from  experience  that  an  alonsr-shore  sailor 
has  always  a thirst  upon  him.  After  a little  pleasant  conversation, 
in  which  he  took  a lively  interest  in  the  tides,  currents,  and  other 
nautical  matters,  of  which  it  was  quite  evident  to  old  Bill  Coffin  the 
pleasant-spoken  gentleman  was  profoundly  ignorant,  Mr.  Pollock 
suggested  a little  refreshment  at  the  nearest  tavern. 

“ Will  a weasel  suck  a rabbit? 

As  a thing  of  course  he  stops, 

And  with  most  voracious  swallow 
Walks  into  my  mutton  chops.” 

It  was  very  unlikely  that  Bill  Coffin  was  going  to  refuse  gratu- 
itous ref  reshment  from  anyone,  and  he  suggested  that  the  rum  at  the 
Golden  Galleon  was  soft  and . pleasant  to  take,  and  that  they  could 
get  a bite  there  as  well  as  anywhere.  So  to  that  place  the  pair  ad- 
journed, and  when  they  were  comtortably  seated,  and  each  fur- 
nished with  a tumbler  of  something  to  his  own  satisfaction,  Mr. 
Pollock  said,  quietly,  ” I suppose  you  were  very  much  astonished 
to  hear  of  the  murder  of  Mr.  Clayford?” 

Indeed  I was;  and  main  sorry  to  hear  it,  too,  sir.  He  was  a 
good  gentleman,  a good  sailor,  and  a thorough  good  friend  to  me. 
He  would  often  give  me  an  odd  pound  in  the  winter,  when  Ihe  boat 
was  laid  up,  to  help  me  through  the  hard  lime.  You  see,  sir,  we 
sailors  find  it  hard  to  get  along  then;  there  is  not  much  work  for  us 
to  do.” 


STRUCK  DOWK,  23 

“Ah!  1 dare  say  you’ve  had  many  a glass  here  with  poor  Mr. 
Clayford,  after  a long  day  in  the  Sound.” 

“ Ko,  sir;  1 don’t  think  Mr.  Clayford  ever  set  toot  in  the  house. 
He  was  not  much  given  to  this  sort  of  thing,  and  very  rarely  finished 
the  flask  he  brought  down  from  the  citadel  with  him,” 

“ Odd  that,  too,”  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  “ with  such  a handsome 
girl  as  1 saw  sitting  in  the  bar.  1 should  have  thought  no  young 
gentleman  given  to  boating  but  what  would  have  had  a glass  here, 
it  it  were  only  tor  an  excuse  to  talk  to  her.” 

“ "Well,  this  ain’t  a house,  you  see,  sir,  at  all  frequented  by  the 
soldier  orificers.  The  Senora,  you  see,  is  don’t  care  about  that  sort 
of  thing.” 

“ The— what  did  yoii  call  her?”  inquired  the  inspector,  sharply. 

“ Well,  1 call  her  ‘ Miss;’  but  that’s  the  name  the  captains  have 
given  her.  It’s  a great  house,  you  see,  with  the  merchant  skippers. 
There’s  a room  here  they  call  the  skipper’s  parlor,  and  keep  entirely 
for  them,,” 

“ Well,  1 must  be  going,”  rejoined  Mr*  Pollock;  and,  having 
paid  for  the  refreshments,  he  wished  his  guest  good-day,  and  passed 
out  on  to  the  quay. 

In  spite  of  all  the  information  he  had  acquired  the  inspector  could 
not  as  yet  be  said  to  have  made  any  satisfactory  progress.  This 
discovery  ot  Mr,  Clayford’s  passion  for  boating  had  led  him  no  fur- 
ther. It  did  not  seem  to  connect  him  with  anybody,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Bill  Coffin.  Mr.  Pollock  was  disappointed.  He  thought 
when  he  came  to  the  Golden  Galleon,  and  caught  a glimpse  of  that 
handsome  girl  presiding  at  the  bar,  he  was  about  to  find  that  Clay- 
ford was  an  liabilue  of  the  house;  but  apparently  he  had  never  set 
foot  in  it,  and,  at  all  events,  was  not  given  to  philandering  with 
Miss  Black. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  mSPECTOR  MAKES  AN  ACQUAINTANCE. 

That  the  citadel  murder  should  be  much  discussed  in  the  skip- 
per’s parlor  at  the  Golden  Galleon  was  only  natural.  A tragedy  of 
that  description  is  usually  the  common  topic  ot  conversation  in  the 
place  where  it  occurs  for  some  days.  One  or  two  of  the  hahituk  of 
the  parlor  had  occasionally  exchanged  good-day  and  an  opinion 
about  the  weather,  with  the  slain  man  on  the  quay,  when  he  came 
down  to  his  boat,  but  it  was  difficult  to  account  for  the  greedy  inter 
est  with  which  Dave  Skirley  followed  every  particular  of  the  crim^ 


24 


STRUCK  BOWK, 


unless  he  was  one  of  those  natures  for  whom  the  liorrible  and  gro- 
tesque contains  a morbid  interest.  Dave  was  always  possessed  of  the 
latest  paper,  and  the  very  last  bit  of  gossip  connected  with  the 
affair,  it  was  noticed  that  he  departed  from  his  usual  habits. 
Whereas,  when  on  shore,  it  was  his  custom  never  to  stray  very  far 
from  the  barbican,  he  was  now  perpetually  penetrating  to  the 
upper  town,  with  apparently  the  sole  object  of  seeking  further  in- 
formation on  the  subject  of  the  citadel  murder.  His  professional 
brethren  even  joked  him  about  it,  and  inquired  whether  he  was  re- 
tained to  give  assistance  to  the  police  in  the  matter,  to  v/hich  Skir- 
ley  rejoined  grimly  that  such  things  always  interested  him;  he  was 
curious  to  know  how  the  chap  felt  who  had  fired  those  two  shots, 
just  now;  and  wound  up  by  muttering,  It  would  be  a queer  thing 
if  he  was  to  discover  the  criminal  after  all.’^ 

When  the  news  of  the  murder  reached  the  Benora’s  ears  she  was 
seated  in  the  bar  of  the  Golden  Galleon,  and,  turning  white  as  a 
sheet,  she  buried  her  face  m her  hands,  and  exclaiming,  “ It  is  too 
horrible!”  in  another  minute  dashed  out  of  the  bar  to  her  own  apart- 
ment. It  was  Skiiley  who  brought  her  the  news,  and  one  or  two 
other  loungers  at  the  counter  were  much  astonished  to  see  the  stately 
Senora  so  moved. 

It  was  a day  or  two  after  the  inquest  that  the  Golden  Galleon  felt 
quite  a glow  of  enthusiasm  at  the  return  of  one  of  its  steady  fre- 
quenters. Jack  Furness  suddenly  arrived,  and,  shaking  hands  with 
the  Senora,  he  asked  if  he  could  have  a room.  Marietta's  pale  face 
lit  up,  and  she  welcomed  ihe  new  arrival  with  a faint  smile,  as  she 
said,  “You  are  unexpected,  Captaiu  Furness,  as  we  saw  by  the 
paper  that  you  had  put  into  Falmouth.” 

” So  1 did,”  replied  Jack;  “ but  Falmouth  don’t  suit  me,  nor  any 
other  place,  half  so  well  as  the  Golden  Galleon.  'You’ll  be  stiff 
more  astonished  when  you  hear  that  I’ve  been  in  Plymouth  for  the 
[ast  five  days.” 

” Been  in  Plymouth  five  days,  Captain  Furness,  and  never  came 
to  see  us!” 

Jack  Furness  was  a sanguine  man,  but  his  heart  misgave  him. 
There  are  many  ways  of  saying  those  words,  and  even  the  young 
skipper  upon  this  occasion  could  not  fiatter  himself  that  their  true 
interpretation  was,  ” without  coming  to  see  me.”  ' 

” 1 couldn’t  help  it,  Marietta;  it  was  only  upon  the  most  urgent 
business,  and,  indeed,  at  the  express  orders  of  the  owners,  that  1 
left  the  ship  at  Falmouth.  1 arrived  here  last  Wednesday  afternoon 
— the  very  day  of  that  terrible  murder  in  the  citadel.  Y’es,  and  some* 


STKUCK  DOWN". 


25 


•thing  1 heard.  Marietta,  sent  me,  as  you  know,  to  the  citadel  that 
very  afternoon.  L found  letters  at  my  agent’s,  and  among  them 
one  quite  recently  written,  evidently  in  anticipation  of  my  arrival.’' 

“ It  is  no  concern  of  mine,  Captain  Furness,”  rejoined  ttie  senora, 
drawing  herself  up  proudly.  “ 1 have  no  wish  to  inquire  as  to 
what  took  you  to  the  citadel,  A walk  round  the  ramparts  is  always 
pleasant,”  but  the  hardness  of  the  tones  and  the  quivering  of  the 
girl’s  lips  showed  What  an  effort  it  cost  her  to  speak  in  such  fashion. 

” Say  it  is  not  true,  Marietta,”  he  whispered  in  low,  passionate 
tones. 

‘‘  1 do  not  understand  you,”  she  replied,  coldly;  and  here  the  in- 
flux of  two  or  three  ship  captains,  who  gave  Furness  a boisterous 
welcome,  and  insisted  upon  his  having  at  once  a glass  with  them, 
cut  short  the  conversation.' 

This  very  afternoon  Inspector  Pollock  stumbled  across  a piece  of 
information  which  he  foresaw  at  once  would  be  a most  important 
feature  in  the  investigation  of  ihe  murder.  He  had  struck  up  a great 
intimac}"  with  Sergeant  Biane — in  fact  he  had  already  made  himself 
generally  a favorite  in  the  sergeants’  mess.  They  regarded  him  as 
connected  with  the  local  press. 

”1  suppose,  sergeant,”  said  Mr.  Pollock,  in  his  usual  off-hand 
manner,  ‘ it  is  impossible  to  get  out  of  the  citadel  except  either 
through  the  gate  or  the  sally-port;  and  yet,  looking  over  the  ram- 
parts, there  are  one  or  two  places  where  1 fancied  an  active  man 
might  descend  into  the  ditch  and  even  get  up  the  other  side  ” 

“You  are  quite  right,”  replied  the  sergeant;  “wo  know  it  by 
experience,  because  some  of  our  chaps  have  occasionally  broke  out 
in  that  fashion.  One  or  two  of  the  easiest  are  under  the  eye  of  the 
sentries,  but  still  lliere  are  one  or  two  more  where  it  is  no  doubt 
quite  practicable;  but  there  is  one  thing  rather  a stopper —you  see 
the  getting  in  again  is  a very  different  matter.  Getting  down  a 
wall  is  one  thing,  getting  up  one  is  another.” 

“Ah,  quite  so,”  said  Mr.  Pollock.  “I  forgot  that,”  and  he 
adroitly  turned  Ibe  conversation. 

For  his  object  it  was  not  in  the  least  essential  that  a man  should 
be  able  to  get  into  the  citadel;  but  it  was  certainly  something,  with 
regard  to  the  murder,  to  know  that  an  active  man  could  get  out  after 
the  gate  was  closed.  Although  suspecting  that  Simmons  had  not  told 
the  whole  truth  about  the  revolver,  the  inspector  in  his  own  mindac 
quilted  him  of  any  knowledge  of  the  murder.  His  theory  now^  was, 
that  whoever  the  assassin  might  be,  he  came  from  the  outside,  and 
must  have  made  his  escape  after  the  manner  indicated  by.  Sergeant 


26 


STBUCK  DOWS. 


Blane.  The  plates  had  been  closed  at  least  halt  an  hour  before  the, 
murder,  and  the  sentry  at  them,  as  well  as  Sergeant  Blane,  was  per- 
fectly certain  that  nobody  had  passed  out  of  them.  It  was  not 
much,  but  it  was  something  to  go  upon.  To  have  arrived  at  the 
possibility  of  a person  leaving  the  citadel  otherwise  than  by  the 
gates  Mr.  Pollock  thought  was  a considerable  point.  Still,  turn  it 
over  as  he  would,  think  about  it  as  he  ihight,  there  was  no  putting 
the  bits  of  the  puzzle  together  in  the  slightest  degree.  Where  did 
the  cartridges  come  from?  What  could  have  been  the  motive  for 
the  murder?  Even  tracing  what  had  been  the  ordinary  life  of  Mr^ 
Clay  ford  seemed  infinitely  more  difficult  than  could  have  been  sup- 
posed of  a young  man  in  his  position.  The  habits  of  a young  officer 
in  a garrison  town  would,  as  a rule,  be  easy  to  ascertain  by  an  acute 
inquirer.  Who  were  his  intiinates?  Who  were  his  friends,  etc.? 
But  in  this  case  it  would  seem  that,  outside  his  regiment,  the  de- 
ceased gentleman  had  hardly  any  acquaintances,  that  is,  as  far  as 
Mr.  Pollock  could  as  yet  discover.  In  these  boating  excursions,  to 
which  apparently  he  was  so  much  addicted,  he  had  no  companions. 
According  to  the  testimony  of  Coffin,  the  sailor  in  charge  of  his 
boat,  they  were  but  rarely  accompanied.  They  sailed  about  the 
Bound,  sometimes  did  a bit  of  fishing,  and  occasionally  had  to  take 
to  their  oars  when  the  wind  left  them  in  the  lurch ; but  there  was 
seldom  anybody  else  in  the  boat.  The  more  he  thought  of  it  the 
more  Mr.  Pollock  wagged  his  head  over  the  case;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  the  more  his  set  resolute  mouth  and  bent  brows  showed  a de- 
termination to  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  mystery. 

It’s  a rum  ’un,  it  is,”  said  Mr.  Pollock  to  himself,  “ if  1 don’t 
get  a something  to  go  upon  when  they  examine  this  poor  fellow’s 
papers.  It’ll  come,  no  doubt.  Somebody  who  is  in  it  will  make  a 
blunder  somewhere.  There  never  was  a murder  yet  that  there  wasn’t 
somebody,  though  perhaps  quite  unconsciously,  an  accessory  to 
the  crime.  Now,  in  this  case,  somebody  got  those  cartridges,  and 
the  somebody  who  sold  them  could  identify  the  person  to  whom  he 
did  sell  them,  even  it  be  couldn’t  name  him;  secondly,  there  is 
another  somebody  who  could  suggest  a very  plausible  reason  for  a 
somebody  wishing  Mr.  Clayford  out  of  the  way.  Total  of  the  sum 
as  it  stands  at  present;  Where  were  the  cartridges  bought  and  who 
bought  them?  Secondly,  who  had  a special  reason  for  Mr.  Clay- 
ford’s  removal  from  l^lymouth?  There  is  one  further  complication 
in  the  case,  now  1 think  of  it,  his  removal  from  Plymouth  was  al- 
most a question  of  days.  I'wo  or  three  weeks  at  the  outside  will  see 
the  regiment  embarked.  No;  it  must  be  more  than  that  if  I’m  cor. 


STRUCK  DOWlif. 


%1 


tect  in  all  my  theory.  There  must  be  fierce  personal  animosity  at 
the  bottom  of  this  crime;  and  there’s  doubtless  somebody  in  the 
place  who  could  suggest  the  man  likely  to  cherish  that  feeling 
against  Mr,  Clayford;  ay,  and  give  the  why  of  it,  too.  These 
papers,  these  papers,  1 wonder  whether  thej'^’ll  let  me  look  at  them? 
A.  mere  scrap  or  note  would  probably  put  the  clew  that  1 am  search- 
ing for  in  my  hand.” 

Mr,  Pollock  had  taken  up  his  quarters  at  Chubb’s  Hotel,  an  old- 
fashioned  country  inn,  with  a great  connection  in  the  commercial* 
traveler  line,  and,  like  any  house  patronized  by  those  gentlemen,  a 
right  comfortable  hostelry.  It  was  a place  admirably  suited  to 
Mr.  Pollock’s  present  business,  insomuch  as  it  was  a good  deal 
frequeiited  by  some  of  the  leading  business  men  of  Plymouih,  who 
dropped  in  there  for  lunch  and  a bit  of  chat  in  the  middle  of  the 
day.  Consequently,  all  the  local  gossip  was  to  be  heard  in  the 
coiiee-room;  and  the  inspector  cherished  the  hope  that  sooner  or 
later  he  might  in  this  way  get  a very  usetul  hint  or  two.  Some- 
thing might  fall  from  the  lips  of  the  speakers  lo  which  they  them- 
selves attached  no  significance,  but  which  might  turn  out  pregnant 
with  meaning  when  followed  up  in  connection  with  this  crime. 
Mr.  Pollock,  in  his  usual  affable,  genial  manner,  was  already  upon 
easy  gossiping  texms  with  many  of  the  frequenters  oi  the  house;  but 
there  was  one  man  who  completely  baffled  him.  A taciturn,  some- 
what morose  man  who  ate  his  lunch  in  silence,  and  with  whom 
it  was  impossible  to  get  into  conversation,  who  answered  briefly 
and  almost  gruffly  when  addressed.  He  aroused  the  inspector’s 
curiosity,  and  he  made  inquiries  of  the  waiter  concerning  him. 

“What,”  the  old  gentleman  replied,  “that  tunctionary  who 
always  takes  the  corner  table?  He’s  one  of  our  most  regular  cus- 
tomers; he’s  been  here  to  lunch  almost  every  day  since  I’ve  known 
the  place,  and  I’ve  been  in  the  house  twelve  years.  He’s  a Mr. 
Crinkle,  sir,  and  he  takes  that  corner  table  so  as  people  mayn’t 
come  and  talk  to  him.  He’s  a gieat  scholar,  sir;  if  you  notice,  he 
always  brings  a book  out  of  his  pocket.  There’s  nobody  in  the  place 
can  say  they  know  him  much  more  than  to  nod  to.” 

“ And  what’s  his  business?”  inquired  Mr.  Pollock. 

“ He  keeps  a general  store  in  Devonport,  sir  ; he’s  said  lo  be  a 
very  warm  man,  sir.  Keeps  two  or  three  assistants,  and  at  the 
same  time  attends  pretty  closely  to  the  business  himself.” 

“ And  he  sells—”  inquired  Mr.  Pollock,  raising  his  eyebrows. 

“ Most  everything,”  replied  llie  waiter,  who  had  all  the  garrulity 
of  bis  class.  “I’ve  heard  the  gentlemen  say  they  don’t  believe 


28 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


there's  anything  you  couldn’t  buy  at  Crinkle’s,  from  a watch  to  a 
harpoon.” 

” Close-fisted,  eh?” 

”1^0  sir;  Mr.  Crinkle’s  a careful  man  with  his  money,  but  he’s 
not  close-fisted,  he  always  does  the  right  thing  by  me,  and  is  always 
safe  for  a handsome  Christmas-box  as  well,  sir;  he’s  what  the 
gentlemen  call  a miss— miss— miss  something  or  other.” 

“ Ah,  1 see,  a misanthrope.” 

One  must  suppose  it  was  from  the  sheer  perversity  of  human 
nature,  for  it  certainly  was  without  the  slightest  reference  to  the 
matter  he  had  io  hand,  but  from  that  hour  it  became  part  of  the 
business  of  the  inspector’s  life  to  make  Mr.  Crinkle  talk.  He  ad- 
fliessed  him  in  the  airiest  manner  daily  at  lunch,  and  no  rebuffs 
seemed  to  disturb  Mr.  Pollock’s  imperturbable  good-humor.  But 
how  the  inspector  succeeded  in  this  apparently  idle  pursuit  we  shall 
see  later  on.  In  the  meantime,  something  very  much  more  impor^ 
tant  called  his  attention.  He  received  a note  from  Major  Griffith, 
saying  that  Dr.  Clayford,  the  murdered  man’s  elder  brother,  had  ar- 
rived at  Plymouth,  and  would  have  no  objection  to  Inspector  Pol- 
lock’s being  present  while  he  went  over  the  deceased’s  papers;  fur- 
ther, that  unless  he  saw  reason  to  the  contrary,  he  would  give  the 
inspector  a general  outline  of  each  of  them,  and  submit  to  him  any- 
thing that  Inspector  Pollock  thought  might  tend  to  throw  light  on 
the  murder,  as  he  considered  it  a duty  to  society  that  the  perpetra- 
tor of  such  a crime  should  be  brought  to  justice  if  possible.  The 
note  wound  up  by  intimating  that  the  inspector  had  better  present 
himself  at  Major  Griffith’s  quarters  at  ten  o’clock  the  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LOVE  LETTERS. 

Mr.  Pollock  duly  made  his  appearance  according  to  instructions 
at  the  major’s  quarters,  and  was  presented  to  a quiet  self-possessed 
gentleman  in  deep  mourning,  whom  the  major  introduced  to  him 
as  Dr.  Clayford.  The  doctor  was  a fair  man,  with  keen,  honest  blue 
eyes,  and  the  quiet,  easy  manner  that  most  men  who  rise  in  the 
medical  profession  usually  acquire. 

“Now,  Mr.  Pollock,”  said  the  doctor,  “with  Major  Griffith’s 
permission,  1 will  get  this  painful  business  over  as  soon  as  possible. 
Captain  Lockyer,  who  was  one  of  the  board  on  my  poor  brother’s 
effects,  and  Jennings,  his  servant,  will  be  at  his  quarters  to  render 
us  any  assistance  in  their  power.  My  time  is  valuable,  and  so,  no 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


29 


doubt,  with  the  regiment  pieparing  for  embarkation,  is  yours, 
JViajor  Griffith,  therefore  1 will  say  good-bye  tor  tne  present.  1 shall 
see  you  again,  course,  before  you  return  to  town,  which  1 must 
do  as  soon  as  the  funeral  is  over/' 

Mr.  Pollock  followed  the  doctor  silently  out  of  the  room,  and  as 
they  walked  across  to  the  dead  man’s  rooms,  said: 

“ You  will  excuse  me,  1 know.  Dr.  Clayford,  but  as  soon  as  Jen- 
nings has  shown  you  all  you  want,  please  dismiss  him;  remember^ 
1 ye  nothing  to  say  against  him,  but  1 expect  to  discovei  nothing  to 
help  me,  unless  it  is  amongst  your  poor  biother'g  papers.  I neither 
know  what  sort  of  a man  your  late  brother  was,  nor  Jennings  is, 
but  every  one  knows  that  if  the  master  is  a careless  man,  arid  the 
servant  a curious  one,  the  latter  may  know  as  much  about  his  mas- 
ter’s papers  as  he  does  himself;  and  the  servant  that  don’t  gossip  is 
a phenomenon.” 

“1  understand,”  replied  the  doctor,  “you  don’t  w^ant  Jennings 
to  be  present  in  the  event  of  our  making  any  discovery  amongst 
poor  Charlie’s  papers.” 

” That’s  it,  sir.  1 don't  want  anybody  but  you  and  Captaia 
Lockyer  to  know  that  1 attach  importance  to  any  scrap  of  paper  we 
may  happen  to  find.  And  if  1 might  be  allowed  to  make  a sug- 
gestion, sir,  it  would  be,  that  we  shouldn’t  trespass  on  Captaia 
Lockyer ’s  valuable  time.” 

“ 1 understand,”  replied  Dr.  Clayford,  “ and  1 think  in  a quarter 
of  an  hour  1 shall  be  able  to  tell  Captain  Lockyer  and  Jennings  we 
don’t  wish  to  detain  them  any  longer.  They’ve  only  got  to  show 
us  the  keys  and  where  things  are,  and  the  whole  business  1 should 
think  is  not  lixely  to  take  us  very  long.  Poor  Charlie  was  not  likely 
to  leave  many  papers  behind  him,  I should  think.” 

Jennings  and  Captain  Lockyer  were  both  lounging  outside  the 
quarters  as  the  doctor  arrived.  The  captain  shook  hands  with  him, 
and  at  once  proceeded  to  unlock  the  door  of  the  quarters,  outside 
which  a sentry  was  pacing  up  and  down.  A sentry  “ over  death 
and  the  dead.”  Jennings  speedily  indicated  which  were  the  keys 
of  the  drawers,  trunks,  etc.,  and  as  for  Lockyer,  although  anxious 
^o  do  everything  in  his  power  to  assist  Dr.  Clayford,  he  was  only 
too  pleased  to  be  quit  of  what  was  to  him  a very  melancholy  busi- 
ness, and  as  soon  as  he  thoroughly  understood  that  the  doctor  and 
his  companion  really  did  not  require  the  assistance  either  of  himself 
or  Jennipgs,  promptly  vanished  from  the  scene,  taking  that  servitor 
with  him. 

It  is  not  worth  while  following  the  pair  through  their  investiga- 


30 


STEUCK  DOWN*. 


tion  of  the  dead  man’s  effects.  The  only  remarkable  thing  about  it 
was  the  intuitive  knowledge  that  Mr.  Pollock  seemed  to  possess  ot 
the  keys  for  everything;  but  there  was  no  point  of  interest  until 
they  came  to  the  deceased’s  dispatch-box,  except  some  bills,  invita 
tions  to  by- gone  dinners,  and  old  play-bills,  they  had  so  far  discoV  * 
ered  nothing  But  it  was  not  likely,  as  Mr.  Pollock  knew,  that  they 
would  come  across  anything  useful  to  him  in  all  this  preliminary 
investigation. 

“ Kow,  sir,”  he  said,  as  he  unlocked  the  dispatch-box  and  placed 
it  before  the  doctor,  ” if  what  1 want  is  in  the  rooms,  it’s  there.” 

The  contents  did  not  take  long  to  run  through. 

Receipted  bills  these.  A very  ill-kept  diary,”  said  the  doctor. 

” Gained  up  to  what  date*/”  interposed  Mr.  Pollock,  sharply. 

” There  does  not  seem  to  have  been  an  entry  for  the  last  eight 
months.” 

“ Might  1 hear  the  last  entry?”  inquired  Mr.  Pollock. 

“Yes,”  replied  the  doctor  dryly. 

“ Dined  at  the  Royal,  went  to  the  theater  afterward,  back  again 
to  the  hotel,  played  pool  till  past  one,  lost  thirty- two  shillings,  and 
then  home  to  bed.” 

” Ahl  well  sir,  1 don’t  think  it  worth  while  going  into  that,  more 
especially  as  it  isn’t  carried  down  to  within  eight  months  of  the 
present  time.  AVhat  next.  Dr.  Clayford?” 

” Hum!  Well,  here  are  a handful  of  loose  letters.  1 will  just 
run  through  them;  they  seem  principally  letters  descriptive  of  good 
days  with  the  hounds,  or  good  days  with  the  gun  or  the  rod,  from 
a certain  Dick  Cayley.  Smartly  written,  which  would  account  for 
their  being  kept,  but  I don’t  think,  Mr.  Pollock,  they  can  possibly 
bear  upon  the  question  in  hand.  Now,  here  are  two  packets  of  let- 
ters besides.  One  is  a largish  packet,  and  they  are  bound  together 
by  a green  silk  ribbon;  the  other  is  very  small,  and  consists  of  three 
or  four,  at  the  outside,  tied  up  with  a tress  ot  dark  hair.  1 will  open 
the  larger  packet  first.  Love  letters  these,  Mr.  Pollock,  with  the 
lady’s  name  signed  in  lull,  and  her  address.  I don’t  pretend  to  have 
gone  through  them,  but  the  latest  is  dated  very  nearly  two  vears 
ago.  And  I think  we  may  put  these  on  one  side,  at  all  events  for 
the  present.  It  looks  to  me  like  a by-gune  flirtation.” 

” Yes,  sir;  those  are  the  sort  of  letteis  I want  to  come  across,  but 
not  of  that  date.  What  about  the  other?” 

Tlie  doctor  sent  the  blade  of  his  penknife  ruthlessly  through  the 
silken  braid.  “Four  letters,”  he  said.  “Now,  Mr.  Pollock.  1 
think  these  are  what  you  want,”  continued  the  doctor,  after  run- 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


31 


ning  his  eye  rapid.y  over  them.  “ These  are  short,  passionate  notes, 
containing  neither  date  nor  signature;  but  it  so  happens  in  one  case 
that  the  envelope  has  been  preserved.  That  envelope,  which  doubt- 
less incloses  the  last  note  of  the  four,  bears  the  Plymouth  postmark, 
with  the  date  on  the  stamp.  It  must  have  been  posted  the  day  be- 
fore my  poor  bi other  met  his  untimely  end.  I'ou  had  better  read  it.*' 

“ Thank  you,  sir/*  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  and  he  silently  skimmed 
through  the  following  few  lines; 

“ Dearest  Charlie,— Although  we  parted  with  great  bitterness 
last  week,  and  though  I can  scarcely  forgive  the  wrong  you  have 
done  me,  yet  1 can  not  let  30U  sail  for  Africa  without  saying  good- 
bye. It  was  cruel  to  win  my  heart  and  then  at  the  last  say  you 
feared  you  could  never  marry  me.  1 could  have  waited,  wept,  and 
prayed  for  you  while  you  were  engaged  in  that  cruel  war.  But  you 
would  not  promise  to  make  me  your  wife,  and  insulted  me,  by 
hinting  at  the  difference  in  our  station.  My  hot  Spanish  blood 
got  the  better  of  me,  and  1 vowed  I would  never  look  upon  your 
face  again.  But,  my  darling,  if  my  kiss  was  not  on  your  lips  and 
anything  happened  to  you  in  that  far-away  campaign,  1 should 
never  know  a moment’s  peace  more.  Meet  me  on  the  ramparts  at 
the  back  of  your  quarters  at  nine  or  a little  before.  It  is  risky,  but 
1 shall  be  closely  veiled.  Ever  your  own  dearest,  M.** 

Mr.  Pollock  read  this  letter  over  twice  attentively. 

“Now,  Dr.  Clayford,’.*  he  said  at  length,  “1  am  going  to  ask 
you  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  these  four  letters  strictly  to  ourselves. 
You  see,  sir,  we  now  really  have  something  to  go  upon.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  your  poor  brother  was  a-carrying  on  pretty  strong 
with  some  young  woman  in  this  town;  and,  judging  from  that  let- 
ter, she  was  a pretty  hot-tempered  one,  too.  Now,  the  night  she 
appointed  to  meet  him,  was  the  night  he  came  to  his  death!  anrl 
what’s  more,  the  appointment  was  made  very  close  to  the  place 
whete  he  was  murdered.  It  does  not  at  all  follow  that  she  took  his 
life,  although  that’s  possible;  still,  my  theory  at  last  about  this  case 
is,  that  she  directly,  or  indirectly,  was  the  cause  of  his  death.  Now, 
you  see,  I start  with  this  scrap  of  handwriting,  and  the  initial  ‘ M/ 
to  guide  me,  together  with  the  knowledge  that  the  young  woman  I 
want  to  find  is  somewhere  in  this  town.  It  may  take  some  little 
time;  but  you  bet,  doctor.  I’ll  find  that  young  vvoman  before  many 
weeks  are  over.  If  you  wouldn’t  mind,  sir,  1 should  like  to  have 
those  letters  intrusted  to  my  care;  though  I presume  the  other  thre^ 
throwr  no  more  light  on  the  writer  than  the  one  1 havd  read.*’ 


33 


STRUCK  DOWJS'. 


“ No/*  replied  Dr.  Clayford;  “ none  whatever,  they  are  simply 
short  passionate  notes,  bearing  no  date,  and  signed  only  ‘ M.’  They 
make  no  appointment,  and  practically  for  your  purpose,  the  last  is 
tar  and  away  the  most  important,  as  owing  to  the  preservation  of  the 
envelope  the  date  is  preserved.  We  also  know  that  it  is  a Plymouth 
letter.'* 

“ Quite  so,  sir;  quite  so;  still  I should  like  to  have  possession  of 
them  all  the  same;  they  tend  to  show  that  poor  Mr.  Clayford  was 
engaged  in  a very  serious  love  aftair,  with  a hot-tempered  impas- 
sioned woman  And  by  the  Lord,  sir,  when  that's  the  case,  hg 
would  be  a wondrous  clever  man  who  would  venture  to  predicf; 
what  would  be  the  end  of  it.  And  now,  Dr.  Clayford,  if  you’ll 
just  give  your  London  address,  1 think  1 need  trouble  you  no  more. 
Can  1 be  of  any  further  use,  sii,  before  I bid  you  good-bye?” 

“No,  thanks,”  said  the  doctor,  also  rising,  and  locking  the  dis- 
patch-box; ” 1 think  we  have  finished  all  there  is  to  do  nere.  With- 
out any  undue  feeling  of  vengeance,  1 certainly  do  trust  you  will 
discover  how  my  poor  brother  came  to  his  end,  and  that  the  assas- 
sin will  be  duly  brought  to  justice.  You  see,  Mr.  Pollock,  it  is  a 
great  point  for  his  lamilyo  We  most  assuredly  wish  that  not  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  the  stain  of  suicide  should  attach  to  his 
memory.” 

“Don’t  you  believe  it,  sir;  your  poor  brother  never  laid  hands  on 
himself.  And  you  tjust  to  me.  Inspector  Pollock;  1 will  produce 
the  murderer  before  many  weeks  are  over.  Good-bye,  sir,”— and 
here  the  inspector  stopped  himself  with  a severe  cough — he  was 
about  to  add,  “ wishing  you  a pleasant  journey  back  to  town;”  but 
suddenly  remembering  the  cause  of  Dr.  Clayford’s  appearance  in 
Plymouth,  and  the  ceremony  he  was  to  attend  that  afternoon,  it 
flashed  across  him  as  being  slightly  inappropiiate. 

“ Ahl”  said  Mr.  Pollock;  “ it’s  a beautiful  case,  it’s  opening  out 
by  degrees.”  He  felt  like  a man  who  dimly  saw  his  way  to  the  dis- 
covery of  an  intricate  chess  problem.  “ What  with  the  cartridges 
and  the  young  woman,  it  will  be  odd  if  1 don’t  get  to  the  bottom  of 
the  mystery  before  long.  That  handwriting  and  the  signature  ‘ M.* 
ought  to  give  me  a pretty  fair  guess  as  to  who  is  the  lady  before  1 
am  many  days  older;  bringing  it  home  to  her  is  another  thing — that 
will  probably  take  a great  deal  more  time,  and  it’s  very  iikeiy  she 
was  merely  the  occasion  and  not  the  cause  of  the  murder.” 

Mr.  Pollock  walked  back  to  his  hotel  with  feelings  of  considera- 
ble relief.  He  had  no  doubt  now  but  what  a woman  was  at  the 
b^ittom  of  the  mystery.  As  to  who  she  was,  or  where  she  was,  he 


STRUCK  BOWK. 


33 


bfid  not  the  faintest  idea;  but  then  the  Inspector  knew  it  was  per- 
fecily  impossible  that  a young  man  in  Mr.  Clayford’s  position  could 
IjLive  carried  on  a strong  flirtaiion  with  a girl  in  a town  liKe  Plym- 
outh, without  more  than  one  person  having  knowledge  of  tl)e 
same.  Before  long  he  was  sure  to  come  across  somebody  who  could 
tell  him  all  about  that;  and  then  the  whole  story  would  probably 
unravel  itself  rapidly,  and  he  would  most  likely  in  his  own  mind  be 
able  to  name  the  murderer,  though  whether  he  might  be  able  to 
prove  him  as  such  was  ot  course  a very  different  thing.  Mr.  Pollock 
was,  by  force  of  circumstances,  so  far  prevented  from  falling  into 
that  prevalent  error,  so  common  among  the  investigators  of  crime — 
to  wit,  the  suspecting  a man  first,  and  then  seeking  to  prove  that  he 
is  the  culprit.  It  is  like  running  a back-trail ; and  the  clew  that 
might  have  led  to  the  conviction  ot  the  real  offender  is  lost,  while 
they  are  following  the  false  scent. 


CHAPTER  Vll. 

MR.  crinkle's  marine  STORES. 

When  Mr.  Pollock  regained  his  hotel,  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  first  thing  to  do  was  to  lunch.  Like  Dugald  Dalgetly,  Mr. 
Pollock  held  that  the  detective  on  the  war-path  should  never  neglect 
an  opportunity  of  taking  in  supplies.  He  could  never  tell  when 
necessity  might  require  such  vigilance  on  his  part  as  almost  to  pre- 
clude the  cnance  of  eating  or  drinking.  The  coffee-room  at  Chubb's 
was  unusually  deserted,  but  Mr.  Crinkle  was  occupying  his  usual 
corner.  Instead  of  a book,  he  was  perusing  a paper,  and,  to  judge 
from  his  countenance,  seemed  both  interested  and  astonished  at  what 
he  was  reading. 

“ Fine  day,  sir,"  remarked  Mr.  Pollock,  cheerily,  as  he  seated 
himself  at  the  adjacent  table. 

“Yes,  there’s  nothing  the  matter  with  the  day,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Crinkle,  sourly;  “I’ve  seen  better— but,  I’m  bound  to  admit,  I’ve 
seen  worse." 

“ Get  me  a chop,  waiter,  and  look  sharp,"  continued  Mr.  Pol- 
lock. “ Anything  in  to-day’s  paper,  sir‘r  for  1 haven’t  had  time  to 
look  at  it  myself." 

“ 1 rarely  read  a paper,"  rejoined  Mr.  Crinkle  sharply;  “ and  I’m 
not  even  reading  to-day's  at  present. 

“ Very  good,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  pleasantly,  “ then  perhaps 
you  will  tell  me,  what  news  there  is  in  to-morrow’s?" 
a 


34 


STRUCK  DOWH. 


A grim  smile  spread  over  Mr.  Criokle’s  countenance,  as  he  said, 
‘‘  Hum!  You  are  a joker,  are  you?  Well,  it’s  something  even  to 
have  spirits  to  make  a fool  of  yourself  in  this  world.  1 haven’t. 
Ko,  1 rarely  look  at  a paper,  and  1 have  by  chance  picked  up  ah  old 
one  in  this  cofiee-room.  Papers  are  rubbish;  1 don’t  care  who’s  in 
or  who’s  out — 1 don’t  care  a rush  about  home  policy  or  foreign 
policy.  The  thing  that  has  interested  me  in  this  paper,  is  the  ac- 
count of  a curious  murder  that  seems  to  have  been  committed  in  the 
citadel.  1 live  so  much  out  of  the  world,  and  speak  to  so  few  peo- 
ple, that,  queer  as  you  may  think  it,  Mr. , what  the  deuce  did 

you  say  your  name  was?  1 suppose  you  have  got  a name?”  con- 
tinued Mr.  Crinkle  irritably. 

” Pollock,  sir;  Pollock,”  chimed  in  the  detective  suavely. 

” Well.  Mr.  Pollock,  you  may  think  it  odd  if  you  like,  but  this  is 
the  first  I’ve  heard  of  this  murder,  and  a pretty  considerable  set  of 
fools  the  officers  in  charge  of  the  case  seem  to  me  to  be  so  far.” 

” 1 don’t  quite  understand  you,  Mr.  Crinkle;  it  seems  to  me  that 
they’ve  done  all  that  was  possible,  as  far  as  the  thing  has  gone.” 

” How  did  you  know  my  name  was  Crinkle,  sir?” 

” Simply  because  1 asked  the  waiter,”  rejoined  Mr.  Pollock,  who 
was  always  amazingly  candid  when  he  had  no  interest  in  being  the 
contrary.  ” Might  I ask  what  steps  you  would  have  taken  as  a pre- 
liminary*/” 

” Why;  naturally  the  first  thing  would  be  to  ascertain  where  those 
cartridges  were  bought.  1 don’t  pretend  to  know  anything  about 
the  investigation  of  crime,  but  it  surely  must  be  based  upon  the 
science  of  induction,  the  basis  of  all  great  discoveries.  Now,  as  far 
as  1 have  real  of  this  murder,  the  one  salient  fact  is,  where  did  the 
cartridges  come  from?  when  you’ve  ascertained  that,  you  will 
pretty  well  have  ascertained  where  they  went  to;  and  1 should  think 
tlien  the  conundrum  is  about  half  solved.” 

“You’re  a clever  man,  Mr.  Crinkle;  a very  clever  man,  sir. 
Would  you  have  a glass  of  something  at  my  expense  while  we  just 
talk  this  over?” 

“ Well,”  rejoined  the  other,  “ a pint  of  bitter  is  my  regular  thing 
at  luncheon,  but  I’ll  just  break  through  the  rules  for  once,  and  have 
sixpenn’orth  of  brandy  cold  with  you.  Now,” -he  continued,  “1 
don’t  know  exactly  what  you  are,  but  I take  it  you’re  something 
connected  with  the  papers,  ain’t  you?” 

“ Thai’s  it,  sir,  that’s  it.  Two  brandies  cold,  William.  Now, 
what  would  you  have  done,  Mr.  Crinkle?” 


STRUCK  DOWN.  35 

**  1 should  have  been  round  to  every  gunsmith  in  the  town  to  start 
with/’ 

‘‘  That’s  just  what  the  police  did,  sir.” 

“No  doubt,”  rejoined  Mr.  Crinkle,  with  a sneer;  “and  didn’t 
find  out  what  they  wanted  to  know.  1 should  have  done  exactly 
the  same  as  the  police,  only  1 shouldn’t  have  expected  to  find  out 
what  1 wanted.” 

“ Then  what  was  the  use  of  doing  it?”  inquired  Mr.  Pollock, 
somewhat  flippantly,  with  intention. 

“ Because,  when  you  are  hunting  for  game,  you  should  never 
leave  a rood  of  ground  unbeaten.  There  are  dozens  of  places  in 
Plymouth  where  a man  could  buy  cartridges  besides  a regular  gun- 
smitn’s.  Why,  Mr.  Pol-— Pol— something—l  forget  the  rest  of  it,  1 
sell  cartridges;  1 sell  everything.  Fit  you  out,  sir,  wdth  a kit  for  the 
East  Indies,  or  one  for  the  North  Pole.  Could,  1 dare  say,  find  you 
a ship  at  a pinch,  and  generally  have  a supply  of  chain  cable  on 
hand.” 

“You  sell  cartridges?”  suddenly  interposed  Mr.  Pollock,  with  in- 
terest. “Still  it  can  hardly  be  supposed  that  you  remember  to 
whom  you  sell  them.” 

“No;  don’t  usually  sell  them  myself,  but  my  young  men  have 
pretty  tidy  memories.  We  want  it  a bit  in  my  business.  Every- 
thing that  is  ofLered  to  us  for  sale  is  not  always  come  by  quite  on 
the  square.  1 tell  you— and  everybody  else  in  Plymouth  will  tell 
you  the  same— I’m  a general  dealer,  I’Jl  buy  anything  if  the  price 
suits.  I’ll  sell  anything  I’ve  got  if  the  price  suits,  but  apart  from  the 
memories  of  my  young  men,  there  are  the  books.  They  don’t  lie; 
mine  are  not  kept  for  purposes  of  fraud,  and  upon  the  one  or  two 
occasions  we  have  made  a mistake,  have  been  at  the  disposal  of  the 
police  at  once.  1 can’t  say  anything  about  these  cartridges.  1 merely 
mean  that  they  might  have  been  bought  at  my  place,  just  as  they 
might  have  been  bought  at  half-a-dozen  like  establishments  in  the 
place.  Those  cartridges,  Mr,  Poldoodle — beg  pardon,  no,  that’s  not 
quite  your  name,  but  forget  what  it  is  exactly  —are  at  the  bottom  of 
this  mystery.  Now,  don’t  you  make  any  mistake,  they  weren’t 
bought  by  an  officer.  Whoever  the  buyer  was,  he  wasn’t  that,  and 
instead  of  going  to  a gunmaker,  he’d  be  likely  to  go  to  just  such  a 

place  as  mine.  There,  Mr, , 1 really  can’t  recollect  your  name,” 

continued  Crinkle,  as  he  finished  his  brandy-and- water,  “ it’s  a 
long  time  since  1 have  taken  so  much  trouble  to  knock  a little  sense 
into  anybody’s  head,  but  you’re  a sharpish  chap,  and,  what’s  more, 
you  know  how  to  hold  your  tongue,  when  somebody  who’s  really 


36 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


got  intormation  to  give  is  talking.  Guod  day,  sir,  and  if  you  know 
any  one  connected  with  what  are  termed  ‘ the  intelligent  guardians 
of  our  lives  and  property,’  you  just  telJ  ’em,  if  they  want  to  gel  to 
the  rights  of  the  citadel  murder,  they’d  better  begin  with  the  car- 
tridges;” and  so  saying  the  old  gentleman  put  on  his  hat,  and  took 
his  departure, 

“ He's  a rum  ’un,  he  is,”  murmured  Mr.  Pollock,  ” but  he’s  no 
fool.  The  chances  are,  that  about  those  blessed  cartridges  he’s  right, 
and  wherever  they  were  bought  it  was  not  in  a regular  gunsmith’s 
shop.  Still  that’s  not  the  turning  point  of  the  secret.  When  I once 
get  at  who  the  woman  was— who  penned  that  last  letter— then 
1’  ve  got  the  key  of  the  mystery.  I’d  stake  my  twenty-years’  experience 
in  the  detective  arm  of  the  force,  that  that  woman  was  the  cause  of 
the  whole  tragedy.  It  might  have  been  unknowingly,  very  likely 
undesignedly,  and  there’s  just  the  possibility  that  her  own  hand 
leveled  the  pistol.  Still,  whenev^er  the  riddle  is  solved,  the  writer 
of  these  lines  that  1 carry  in  my  breast-pocket,  will  be  found  at  the 
bottom  of  it.” 

In  the  meantime  Mr.  Pollock  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  first 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  endeavor  to  discover  where  the  cartridges 
had  been  purchased.  With  a view  to  this,  he  walked  across  to  the 
head-quarters  of  the  Plymouth  police.  He  was  treated  there  with 
the  greatest  deference.  In  their  eyes,  he  was  the  great  Mr.  Pollock, 
the  celebrated  London  detective,  unraveler  of  a score  of  criminal 
mysteries,  and  they  were  only  too  anxious  to  carry  out  his  wishes  in 
any  respect,  more  especially  as  the  citadel  murder  was  a case  that 
had  completely  baffled  them.  They  had  come  to  that  last  hopeless 
state  which  characterizes  the  superficial  investigalors  of  crime  gen- 
erally. It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  Mr.  Pollock  did  not  shaie 
such  discoveries  as  he  had  made  with  his  Plymouth  compatriots. 

Upon  learning  what  he  wanted,  the  chief  quickly  procured  him  a 
list  of  several  shops,  otherwise  than  professional  gunsmiths,  in 
which  it  was  possible  cartridges  might  be  sold,  and  told  oft  an  offi- 
cer in  plain  clothes  to  go  round  with  him.  Mr.  Pollock  carried  one 
of  the  three  cartridges  that  had  remained  in  the  revolver  in  his  pocket, 
but  he  said  nothing  of  this  to  his  companion.  Two  or  three  of  the 
most  likely  shops,  the  Plymouth  officer  said,  they  had  already  tested 
unsuccessfully,  but  perhaps  it  might  be  as  well  to  try  again.  The 
two  men  spent  the  whole  afternoon  in  going  into  all  sorts  of  queer 
establishments  about  the  bottom  end  of  Union  Street  and  over  in 
Devonport.  Difficult  to  say  what  these  shops  did  not  keep,  for  the 
miscellaneous  assortment  of  goods  that  a general  dealer  in  a seaport 


STKUCK  DOWN, 


37 


town  has  upon  his  premises  is  something  wonderful,  more  especially 
when,  as  in  the  case  of  many  of  these  men,  they  combine  the  pawn- 
broking  business  with  their  own.  In  more  than  one  of  them  did 
they  find  cartridges  for  sale.  They  were  invariably  odd  lots  that 
had  come  into  the  dealers'  hands  in  conjunction  with  second-hand 
pistols,  now  perhaps  disposed  of;  but  in  no  case  did  they  discover 
cartridges  of  the  pattern  they  w^ere  seeking  for.  Still  it  was  quite 
clear  that  cartridges  could  be  bought  in  these  places,  and  as  the 
local  officer  said,  “ I'm  not  sure  that  my  list  is  complete.  W e ran 
it  out  in  a hurry,  and  1 dare  say  1 have  overlooked  two  or  three  of 
them." 

‘‘Possibly,"  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  who  had  already  noticed  the 
absence  of  Mr.  Crinkle’s  name  from  the  little  catalogue.  “ How- 
ever, we’ve  reckoned  up  all  those  on  the  list  to-day,  and  any  more 
you  can  think  of  we’ll  visit  to-morrow.  We  must  get  at  where 
those  cartridges  came  from.  It  would  be  a blot  upon  our  reputa* 
tion  not  to  discover  a little  matter  like  that,  though  whether  we 
shall  be  much  further  on  our  w’ay  to  laying  hands  on  the  murderer 
wnen  we  do.  I’ll  own  I’m  not  quite  so  certain.’’ 

“ Why,  Mr.  Pollock,  it’s  clear  as  mud,"  replied  the  local  officer. 
“ The  man  who  bought  those  cartridges  loaded  and  pistol  and  used 
it.’’ 

“ Well,  1 suppose  he  did;  but,  mind,  we’ve  got  to  prove  all  that," 
rejoined  the  inspector  rather  absently.  “ And  now,  old  fellow.  I’ll 
bid  you  good-day.  I’ve  a little  bit  of  business  of  my  own  to  attend 
to.’’  and  with  a jerky  little  nod  to  his  companion  Mr.  Pollock 
turned  on  his  tracks  and  once  more  belook  himself  to  Devonport. 
He  asked  one  or  two  questions  in  his  progress,  but  eventually  found 
his  way  to  a large,  rather  dingy  shop,  over  the  front  of  which  it 
was  announced  that  Nathaniel  Crinkle  was  a general  dealer  in 
marine  stores,  while  three  golden  balls  also  advertised  that  he  ad- 
vanced money  upon  substantial  security.  Into  this  establishment 
Mr.  Pollock  plunged  without  hesitation,  and  at  once  demanded  to 
see  Mr.  Crinkle  himself. 

“ What  is  it?"  asked  the  assistant.  “ 1 dare  say  1 can  manage  it. 
What  do  you  want?  Is  it  anything  to  sell,  or  do  you  wish  for  an 
advance?" 

" 1 want  to  see  Mr.  Crinkle,"  replied  Mr.  Pollock  sharply.  “ You 
are  a very  nice  young  man,  just  about  as  nice  as  they  make  ’em 
probably,  but  you  won’t  do.  Just  you  lake  that  bit  of  a note  in  to 
your  master,  and  say  I’m  waiting,  and  look  sharp;  my  time  is 
valuable." 


38 


STKUCK  DOWN. 


‘*One  would  think  you  about  owned  Devonport/*  rejoined  the 
assistant  sulkily.  **  1 don’t  suppose  Mr.  Crinkle  will  see  you  in 
spite  ot  all  your  swag2:er.” 

You’d  betler  ascertain  that  fact,  my  young  friend,  as  quickly 
as  possible.  You’ll  not  only  find  he  will,  but  yourself  out  of  a 
situation,  if  you  keep  me  humbugging  about  the  shop  any  longer.” 

Mr.  Pollock’s  authoritative  manner  utterly  cuiDed  the  shopman. 
He  slunk  oft  with  the  note  in  search  of  his  principal,  and  speedily 
returned  in  a very  crestfallen  fashion, 

“ Mr.  Crinkle  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you,  sir,  in  his  own  room;” 
and  without  another  word  the  assistant  marshaled  Mr.  Pollock  to- 
ward the  proprietor’s  sanctum. 

“ What,  it’s  you,  is  it?”  said  the  old  gentleman,  looking  keenly 
at  his  visitor  from  the  depths  of  the  easy-chair  in  which  he  was  en- 
sconced, “and  so  you’re  Inspector  Pollock,  are  you?  We’ve  all 
heard  of  you,  o’  course.  1 thought  you  were  a newspaper  reporter 
when  I met  you  at  Chubb’s.  However,  as  Inspector  Pollock,  1 
presume  that  Scotland  Yard  has  handed  this  case  over  to  you,  and 
it’s  my  duty  to  render  you  any  assistance  in  my  power.  How,  Mr. 
Pollock,  what  is  it?” 

“ What  is  it,  sir — what  should  it  be?  You  know  as  well  as  1 do 
— the  cartridges,  of  course!” 

“Ha!  ha!”  said  Mr.  Crinkle,  with  a grim  chuckle,  “you’ve 
adopted  my  opinion,  have  you?  Well,  Mr.  Pollock,  as  1 told  you, 
1 buy  and  sell  pretty  nearly  everything,  and  undoubtedly  stray  lots 
of  cartridges  pass  through  my  hands  at  times.  How  the  first  thing 
is  to  know  what  the  particular  pattern  of  cartridge  is  that  you’re 
seeking  to  identify.” 

“ There’s  the  cartridge,”  replied  Mr.  Pollock;  “ it’s  the  cartridge 
ot  a well-known  maker,  and  there  can  be  no  difiiculty  about  identi- 
fying it.” 

“ Thank  you,”  rejoined  Mr.  Crinkle,  “ if  you’ll  excuse  me  for  a 
few  minutes,  with  a slight  reference  to  the  books,  and  some  talk 
with  my  assistant,  1 shall  be  able  to  tell  you  whether  any  such 
cartridges  have  passed  through  our  hands,  and  give  you  some  clew 
as  to  where  they  went  to.” 

The  marine-store  keeper  was  absent  for  a good  ten  minutes,  and 
on  his  return  said,  “ How,  Mr.  Pollock,  1 can  tell  you  all  about 
such  cartridges  as  we’ve  had  of  that  pattern.  We  purchased  a 
brace  ot  Dean  and  .Adams’s  revolvers  from  a captain  in  the  mer- 
chant service  some  six  months  back.  He  had  got  into  difiaculties  of 
some  kind,  1 fancy,  poor  fellow— however,  that  has  nothing  to  do 


STRUCK  BOWK. 


3d 

with  X With  the  pistols  we  also  took  some  four  hundred  car- 
tridges, about  half  of  which  we  still  have.  1 find  that  we  have  sold 
four  Jots  of  those  cartridges,  in  parcels  of  fifty  at  a lime,  to  a man 
who  has  given  no  name,  as  why  should  he?  He  paid  for  the  car- 
tridges over  the  counter,  and  took  them  away;  with  him.” 

‘‘  A soldier?”  said  Mr.  Pollock  interrogatively. 

“That  1 can't  say,”  rejoined  Mr.  Crinkle,  “ he  most  decidedly 
did  not  wear  a uniform;  on  that  point  my  young  men  are  quite 
clear;  but  1 happen  to  know  that  the  officers’ servants,  mess  waiters, 
etc.,  are  allowed  to  go  about  town  in  plain  clothes.” 

“ You’re  a shrewd  man,  a man  of  considerable  observation,”  re- 
maiked  the  inspector,  “ for  I’ll  be  hung  if  1 knew  that  till  three  or 
four  days  ago.  INow  I’m  going  to  be  frank  with  you,  sir;  and  what 
you  have  told  me  tells  me  pretty  wxll  who  bought  those  cartridges, 
though  why  he  bought  them,  or  what  he  did  with  them,  I’ve  yet  to 
make  out;  but,  mark  me,  this  is  not  the  man  who  committed  the 
murder,  though  it  is  quite  possible  this  may  he  the  step  to  the  dis- 
covery of  the  actual  assassin.  1 thank  you,  sir,  and  good-morn- 
ing!” And  Mr.  Pollock  quitted  the  shop  in  his  usual  abrupt 
stealihy  manner. 


CHAPTER  VIll. 

ARREST  OF  JOim  FURNESS. 

“Now,”  said  Mr.  Pollock  to  himself,  as  he  stepped  out  of 
Nathaniel  Crinkle’s  store,  “of  course  Bimmons  bought  those  car- 
tridges;  1 don’t  quite  know  what  Simmons’s  little  game  was,  bull 
certainly  don’t  think  he  bought  those  cartridges  for  the  purpose  of 
shooting  Mr.  Clayford.  To  begin  upon,”  continued  the  inspector, 
with  a grim  chuckle,  “ a man  can’t  have  much  opinion  of  himself 
as  a shot  if  he  thinks  it  necessary  to  lay  in  about  two  hundred 
cartridges  to  commit  one  murder.  No;  what  Simmons  wanted 
those  cartridges  for,  or  what  he  did  with  them,  1 don’t  know;  but 
1 don’t  think  it  will  be  very  difficult  to  ascertain.  In  fact,  if  I’m 
down  viciously  upon  Simmons,  1 should  think  he  would  probably 
cave  in,  and  acknowledge  the  whole  truth.  Mr.  Leader,  no  doubt, 
knows  nothing  about  it.  AL,  well!  1 quite  see  my  way  to  clear- 
ing up  the  story  of  the  cartridges;  but  these  letters,  how  am  1 to  get 
at  the  WTiter  of  them?  Of  course,  there  is  somebody,  no  doubt 
several  people,  who  would  lecognize  the  handwriting  at  once;  hut 
the  trouble  is  where  to  find  them.  However,  it’s  got  to  be  done. 


40 


STRUCK  BOWK. 


and  so,  of  course,  it  will  be  done.  In  the  meantime,  I’ve  got 
through  a good  a^.ternoon’s  work,  so  1 think  I’ll  go  back  to  Chubb’s 
and  have  a bit  of  peck,  and  clear  my  head  by  going  to  the  theater- 
after  ward.” 

Mr.  Pollock  carried  out  his  intention,  and  was  in  convulsions  of 
laughter  at  the  representation  of  ” The  Illustrious  Stranger,”  played 
by  the  veteran  who,  from  almost  time  out  of  mind,  had  swayed  the 
fortunes  of  the  Plymouth  stage.  Suddenly  one  of  the  attendants 
of  the  theater  made  his  way  into  the  dress-circle,  where  Mr.  Pollock 
was  enjoying  the  fun,  and,  touching  him  on  the  shoulder,  said,  ” 1 
beg  your  pardon,  sir;  there’s  a gentleman  wants  to  see  you  on  im- 
portant business.” 

” And  how  the  deuce  do  you  know  I’m  the  gentleman  he  wants 
to  see?”  inquired  Mr.  Pollock,  sharply.  ” Did  he  tell  you  my 
name?” 

“No;  but  he  came  to  the  door  and  pointed  you  out,  and  he’s 
waiting  for  you  in  the  lobby  now.” 

Nothing  ever  suiprised  Mr.  Pollock;  but  he  got  as  near  that  sen- 
sation as  possible  when,  upon  going  out  into  the  lobby,  he  was  met 
by  one  ot  the  leading  officers  of  the  Plymouth  police. 

“ The  chief  has  sent  me  down  to  tell  you  that  we  have  arrested  a 
man  we  believe  to  have  committed  the  citadel  murder,  about  an 
hour  ago.” 

Mr.  Pollock  indulged  in  a lo'w  whistle. 

“ I didn’t  even  know  that  you  had  the  slightest  clew.” 

“ Well,  Mr.  Pollock,  we  always  think  it  best  to  keep  these  sort 
ot  things  to  ourselves.  We  were  anxious  to  give  you  every  assist- 
ance, but  that  didn’t  prevent  our  working  out  the  problem  for  our- 
selves. Now,  we  happen  to  know  of  a man  who  was  undoubtedly 
in  the  citadel  at  the  time  the  murder  was  committed,  who  certainly 
never  left  by  the  gate,  and  who  declines  to  explain  what  took  him 
there,  or  how  he  got  out  of  the  place.  We’ve  evidence  to  prove  that 
he  was  in  the  vicinity  of  the  officers’  quarters  just  about  the  time 
the  crime  was  committed.” 

“ The  idiots!”  observed  Mr.  Pollock,  mentally.  “A  premature 
arrest  is  an  irretrievable  blunder  in  a case  of  this  kind;  and  what  is 
the  man?”  he  asked. 

“ He’s  a merchant  captain,  of  the  name  of  John  Furness.  It 
seems  he’s  been  skulking  about  Plymouth  for  the  last  four  or  five 
days,  and  why  he  should  not  have  gone  to  his  usual  haunt,  the 
Golden  Galleon,  down  at  the  Bar,  is  ot  itself  suspicious.” 

“The  Golden  Galleon!”  exclaimed  Pollock.  “I  know  the 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


41 


house.  By  the  Lord!  I wonder  it  any  of  (he  people  (here  are  mixed 
up  in  this?  That  was  Captain  Furness’s  usual  abode  when  on 
shore?” 

“ Just  so,”  returned  the  Plymouth  officer.  “ Until  a day  or  two 
ago;  he  seems  to  have  quite  deserted  his  old  haunts.  Suspicious 
circumstance,  that.” 

Mr.  Pollock  remained  wrapped  in  thought  for  a minute  or  two, 
and  then  astounded  the  local  officer  by  saying:  “ Thank  you;  and 
now  1 think  ITl  go  back  and  see  the  conclusion  of  the  performance; 
it’s  a wonderful  good  farce,  this;  have  you  ever  seen  it?” 

But  the  officer  was  too  disgusted  at  the  Londoner’s  frivolity  to  re- 
ply; he  turned  upon  his  heel,  and,  with  a gruff  good-night,  left  Mr. 
Pollock  to  undisturbed  enjoyment  of  the  drama. 

“ 1 declare  1 shouldn’t  w’onder,”  said  Mr.  Pollock  to  himself,  as 
he  resumed  his  seat,  “ if  these  people  have  half  blundered  on  the 
truth.  There’s  clearly  a woman  in  the  case,  and  that  handsome  girl 
at  the  Golden  Galleon  may  possibly  be  the  woman.  At  all  events, 
(o-morrow  I’ll  look  that  house  up  a bit.’" 

Mr.  Pollock  was  a man  of  decision,  fle  was,  of  course,  present 
at  the  police  office  the  next  morning,  to  hear  Captain  John  Fur. 
ness,  merchant  seaman,  arraigned  on  the  charge  of  being,  if  not  the 
murderer,  at  all  events  an  accessory  to  the  citadel  tragedy.  Mr. 
Pollock  listened  to  the  proceedings  in  silence,  and  when  the  ac- 
cused was  finally  committed  to  prison  to  stand  his  trial,  the  London 
detective  walked  out  of  the  court  in  the  most  supreme  astonishment 
at  country  magistrates*  justice, 

” Well,  I’m  d— d!”  he  muttered.  ” These  provincial  beaks,  they 
have  pluck.  They  may  make  their  case  out,  but  at  the  present  mo- 
ment I'm  blessed  if  there  is  not  a very  pretty  action  for  false  impris- 
onment lying  against  the  lot;  they’ve  no  real  evidence  against  this 
man  whatever.  He  was  loafing  round  the  citadel  on  the  night  of 
the  murder,  and  it  seemed  hadn’t  been  conforming  to  his  usual  hab- 
its for  four  or  five  days  afterward.  Why,  if  we  hopped  up  every- 
body in  London  who  suddenly  deviates  from  his  accustomed  grooves 
for  a week  or  so,  we  should  nave  the  police-cells  pretty  full,  and 
nothing  to  substantiate  against  their  tenants.” 

That  ceremony  over,  Mr.  Pollock  at  ouce  made  his  way  down  to 
the  Golden  Galleon.  He  found  that  hostelry  in  a state  of  great 
commotion.  The  arrest  of  such  a well-known  and  popular  fre*- 
quenter  as  Captain  Jack  Furness  on  the  charge  of  being  implicated 
in  the  citadel  murder,  was  a thing  that  convulsed  the  whole  estabr 
lishraent.  John  Black,  and  the  members  of  the  skippcUs  parlOT, 


42 


STRUCK  UOWJ^. 


denounced  the  whole  thing  emphatically  as  a thundering  lie,  with 
much  thumping  of  horny-handed,  mahogany-colored  fists  on  the 
well-polished  table,  and  portentous  rummers  of  strong  waters,  with 
which  to  strengthen  theif  opinions. 

“What!”  they  said  unanimously,  “Jack  Furness  accused  of 
murder!  why  it  airji’t  in  him.  Kill  a man  in  fair  fight  he  might,  but 
to  shoot  a man  down,  without  giving  him  a ‘ show’  for  his  life— no, 
no!  that’s  not  Jack  Furness,”  and  so  saying,  old  John  Black 
brought  his  hand  down  heavily  on  that  well-polished  table,  and  the 
other  inmates  of  the  parlor  strongly  indorsed  his  opinion. 

“ He  ain’t  that  kind,”  said  a veteran  old  sea-dog.  “ You’re  right, 
John;  he’s  one  of  those  who  looks  his  foe  straight  in  the  face,  and 
has  it  out  with  him  fair  and  square  in  the  open,  as  a British  sailor 
should.  He’s  not  like  one  of  these  furriners,  who  brood  over  a 
grudge  for  a week,  and  slip  a knife  into  your  liver  at  the  end  of  it.” 

“ Don’t  believe  he  ever  did  it,”  jerked  out  Captain  Koreton,  sen- 
tentiously.  That  was  about  as  long  a speech  as  ever  that  distin- 
guished oflBcer  made.  Like  the  famous  Captain  Bunsby,  he  was  both 
sententious  and  oracular.  Combining  a jest  on  his  name  with  the 
extreme  brevity  of  his  speech,  his  comrades  were  wont  to  declare 
that  he  had  spent  his  sea- going  days  in  command  of  the  “ Nore 
Lightship,”  the  commandant  of  which,  it  is  generally  supposed, 
has  but  slight  opportunity  of  conversation. 

But  if  the  skipper’s  parlor  was  perturbed,  it  was  nothing  to  the 
troubled  expression  that  was  growing  over  Marietta’s  face.  From 
the  day  Dave  Skirley  had  announced  to  her  the  murder  in  the  cita- 
del, the  girl  had  borne  the  aspect  of  one  with  something  on  her 
mind;  her  face  grew  more  haggard,  the  circles  beneath  her  eyes 
grew  darker;  and,  though  she  faced  her  work  resolutely  as  ever,  it 
w^as  apparent  that  her  heart  was  not  in  it.  8he  greeted  her  father’s 
customers  with  a smile  as  of  old,  but  it  was  very  different  from  the 
bright  smile  of  a week  or  two  back.  Now  it  was  a forced,  languid 
greeting,  conjoined  to  what  any  close  observer  might  have  seen  was 
a preoccupied  mind. 

Shortly  after  witnessing  the  proceedings  of  the  police  court,  Mr. 
Pollock  strolled  into  (he  “ Golden  Galleon,”  and  called  tor  a glass 
of  bitter  at  the  bar. 

“ Glorious  weather,  miss,”  said  the  detective,  as  the  Senora  hand- 
ed him  his  tankard.  A remark  to  which  the  girl  assented  with  a 
polite  inclination  of  her  head.  But  nobody  who  had  any  knowledge 
of  Mr.  Pollock  would  have  dreamed  for  one  moment  that,  when  he 
meant  conversation,  he  was  to  be  batfied  by  si  ch  trifling  reticence  as 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


4b 


this.  Not  at  all.  When  Mr.  Pollock  meant  talking,  he  was  rather 
a difiBcult  man  to  get  away  from.  Snubbing  he  was  perfectly  im- 
pervious to.  It  was  no  use  rejecting  his  overtures  of  conversation, 
fie  would  rattle  away  apparently  quite  oblivious  of  the  fact  that 
you  had  no  desire  to  talk  to  him,  and  in  nineteen  cases  out  of 
twenty  he  carried  his  point,  and  broke  down  the  reserve  with  which 
the  stranger  had  hedged  himself,  Mr.  Pollock  had  entered  the 
Golden  Galleon  with  two  distinct  objects  in  view,  fie  meant  to 
be  upon  fiiendly  terms  if  possible  with  Miss  Black,  but  he  most  de- 
cidedly wanted  to  be  free  of  the  skipper's  parlor;  if  anything  was 
to  be  learned  at  the  Golden  Galleon  concerning  the  citadel  tragedy, 
Mr.  Pollock  had  somehow  taken  it  into  his  head  that  it  was  from 
thence  he  would  get  his  inspiration. 

But  upon  this  occasion  Mr.  Pollock  found  he  had  no  easy  task. 
His  volubility  made  no  impression  on  the  Senora.  She  listened  to 
him  in  a half-absent  way,  and  with  a wan  smile  upon  her  lips;  but 
her  replies  were  of  the  briefest,  and  she  only  spoke  when  absolutely 
necessary. 

When  Mr.  Pollock,  with  his  easy  affability,  at  last  said,  “And 
now  if  you  have  a nice  room  that  1 can  sit  down  in,  1 think  I’ll  do 
that  again,  my  dear,”  and  pushed  the  tankard  across  to  her,  with  a 
view  to  its  being  refilled.  Marietta  simply  called  to  the  pot-boy,  and 
with  a curt  “ Show  this  gentleman  into  the  Jront  room,  Tom,”  dis- 
missed the  subject.  This  did  not  meet  the  inspector’s  views  at  all. 
There  was  not  much  information  to  be  acquired  in  the  absorption 
of  a pint  of  beer  by  himself. 

“ It’s  rather  dull  work  drinking  alone,  miss;  haven’t  you  a room 
where  a man  has  a chance  of  chatting  over  his  glass?” 

“ There’s  nothing  to  prevent  your  doing  that  where  I have  told 
Tom  to  show  you,  if  you  can  find  any  one  to  chat  with,”  returned 
the  girl  coldly. 

“ It’ll  be  a chance  shot,”  thought  Mr  Pollock;  “ but  I’ll  see,  my 
lady,  if  1 can’t  wake  you  up  a bit.” 

“ Terrible  tning  this  murder  at  the  citadel;  it’s  a comfort  to  hear 
that  the  police  have  laid  their  hands  upon  the  man  who  did  it.” 

"Yes!  he  had  woke  her  up  now,  and  no  mistake.  The  girl’s  eyes 
blazed,  the  blood  surged  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  voice  shook,  as  she 
asked  impetuously,  “ Who  is  it  they  accuse  of  the  crime?” 

“ A man,  I’m  sorry  to  say,  miss,  who  it’s  likely  you  know.  I’m 
told  Captain  Furness  made  this  house  his  head-quarters  when  on 
shore.” 

They’ve  arrested  Jack  Furness  for  this  crime!  Oh!  my  God' 


44 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


my  God!  What  shall  1 do?”  and  bursting  into  a paroxysm  of 
tears,  the  girl  hurried  rapidly  from  the  bar. 

” Hum!”  said  Mr.  Poilock  to  himself,  as  he  followed  his  ale  into 
the  front  parlor,  “ I’ve  a strong  impression  that  young  woman  will 
turn  out  to  be  * IM,’  and  I’ll  bet  a trifle  of  odds  the  clew  to  the 
citadel  murder  is  to  be  found  in  the  Golden  Galleon. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  skipper’s  PARLOR. 

When  Marietta  gained  her  chamber,  she  sunk  on  her  knees  by 
the  side  of  her  bed,  and,  burying  her  face  in  the  counterpane,  mur- 
mured: ” Oh,  my  God!  it  is  too  terrible.  1 would  have  given  my 
life  to  save  Charlie  Clayford;  but,  in  a moment  of  mad  passion,  I've 
been  the  cause  of  his  death.  And,  as  if  this  were  not  past  endur- 
ance as  they  stood,  now  comes  this  fresh  complication.  Jack  Fur- 
ness accused  of  the  murder!  What  took  him  to  the  citadel  that 
night?  1 didn’t  even  know  he  was  in  England;  and  now  he  is  de- 
nounced tor  this  murder.  What  madness;  what  an  inextricable 
tangle  1 seem  to  be  involved  in!  What  am  I to  do?  Who  am  1 to 
trust?  From  whom  shall  1 take  counsel?  1 am  lost!  1 can  not  let 
Jack  Furness  die  a shameful  death;  and,  from  all  1 hear,  facts  point 
strongly  against  him.  I,  who  know  how  straightforward  he  is 
that  his  one  mistake  in  life  has  been  entertaining  a passion  for  a girl 
incapable  of  responding  to  it.  Love!  Yes,  he  did  love  me;  better, 
1 believe,  than  the  poor  fellow  who  is  gone,  and  for  whom  1 would 
willingly  have  died.  It  is  sweet  to  think  that  he  loved  me  too. 
Honestly,  1 believe,  but  who  shall  say?  When  a man  of  his  station 
pays  his  addresses  to  a girl  of  mine,  the  world  is  always  entitled  to 
doubt  the  meaning  of  it;  and  that  is  what  has  happened,  and  that 
is  what  has  brought  all  this  unutterable  woe.  1 see  no  way  out  of 
it.  1 can  not  let  Jack  Furness  die.  Ah  me!”  she  exclaimed,  with 
a shiver,  ” to  stand  in  court  with  all  the  eyes  of  an  angry  crowd  re. 
garding  me  would  kill  me;  and  yet,  if  1 tell  the  truth,  what  other 
fa‘o  awaits  me?  It  would  be  too  shameful  to  let  an  innocent  man 
suffer  for  what,  in  my  veiy  heart,  I believe  him  innocent  of.  He 
was  there.  What  miserable  mischance  took  him  there,  1 don’t 
know;  but,  like  the  whole  affair,  it  seems  to  have  been  one  of  a 
series  of  fatalities.  Oh,  Charlie,  my  darling,  if  you  could  but 
know  the  unutterable  wretchedness  you  have  bequeathed  to  your 
poor  Marietta.  I’m  sure  the  tears  would  stand  in  your  eyes.” 


STRUCK  BOWK. 


45 


Mr.  Pollock,  in  the  meantime,  slowly  absorbins^  his  ale,  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  Golden  Galleon  was  a house  that  it  behooved 
him  to  cultivate. 

‘‘  Nice,  hot-tempered  young  woman, he  said  to  himself.  “ That 
dark-eyed  girl  in  the  bar  could  give  a very  useful  hint  or  two  about 
the  cause  ot  Mr.  Ciayford’s  death,  when  properly  handled.  A bit 
scarey,  no  doubt;  one  of  the  sort  you  jump  information  out  of  by 
surprising  ^em.  Quite  a kind  who,  1 should  think,  wouldn’t  be 
above  using  a revolver  herself,  if  her  blood  was  up.  A Spanish- 
looking  woman,  whose  eyes  blaze  like  fire.  Kevei  knows  exactly 
where  she’s  going  when  her  temper’s  up.  Whether  she  did  it,  or 
whether  she  didn’t.  I’d  stake  a good  bit  of  money  that  she  knows 
all  about  it.  Kow  here’s  this  Captain  Furness.  They’ve  got  him  in 
custody,  and  1 dare  say  have  got  a very  pietty  case  against  him  as 
far  as  it  goes;  but  I’ve  considerable  doubts  as  to  w^hether  he’s  the 
man.  Still,  if  he  was  a lover  of  this  girl’s,  came  back  from  sea, 
and  learned  that  she  had  been  carrying  on  with  Mr.  Clayford,  it’s 
quite  likely  that  his  temper  got  the  best  of  him,  and,  after  a few 
angry  words,  he  simply  slew  the  man  who  had  supplanted  him  in 
her  affections.  By  Jove!  old  Crinkle’s  right.  The  very  first  link 
in  the  chain  is  to  get  really  hold  of  the  secret  of  those  cartridges: 
Who  was  the  buyer;  and  what  were  they  bought  for?  Simmons, 
no  doubt,  was  the  buyer;  but,  the  why  of  it,  that’s  the  question/’ 

The  more  Mr.  Pollock  thought  over  this  thing,  the  more  he  felt 
convinced  that  he  must  penetrate  the  sanctuary  of  the  skipper’s  par- 
lor. It  was  there  that  he  would  discover  the  details  of  the  life  of 
Captain  John  Furness,  would  hear  ot  his  characteristics,  and  what 
Character  he  bore,  etc.  They  would  know  in  there  whether  he  was 
a suitor  of  Miss  Black’s,  whether  a favored  one  or  no,  whether  it 
was  an  affair  that  met  her  father’s  approval,  and  what  prospect  of 
success  he  was  considered  to  have  had.  And  surely  somebody  in  the 
house  must  know  at  all  events  whetfier  any  acquaintance  had  existed 
between  Miss  Black  and  the  man  who  had  come  to  such  an  un- 
timely end.  As  no  hints  of  any  description  seemed  to  be  responded 
to,  Mr.  Pollock,  after  due  consideration,  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  take  the  case  into  his  own  hands. 
Mr.  Pollock  was  thoroughly  accustc  med  to  this  species  of  audacity: 
it  was  a necessity  of  his  peculiar  business.  The  experienced  detect- 
ive ofncer  ignores  rebuffs.  If  it  suits  his  purpose  to  know  you,  ho 
will  do  il.  Mr.  Pollock  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  es- 
sential to  the  inquiry  he  was  engaged  on,  to  know  the  “ skipper’s 
parlor,  ” And,  as  no  one  appeared  willing  to  introduce  him,  he  de* 


46 


StRTTCK  DOWnr. 


termined  to  introduce  himself.  A few  insidious  inquiries  speedi.y 
acquainted  him  with  the  locality,  and  with  no  more  ado,  Mr.  Pol- 
lock walked  boldly  in  and  hung  up  his  hat  on  the  nearest  peg. 

There  was  a solemn  stir  on  the  part  of  the  three  denizens  ot  that 
sanctum.  Dave  Skirley  was  smoking  and  ruminating  in  one  arm- 
chair; Captain  Noreton  was  absorbing  the  contents  ot  a mahogany- 
colored  tumbler,  and  those  of  the  local  paper,  in  another;  the  third 
was  laboriously  constructing  a letter,  which  apparently  necessitated 
much  biting  of  the  top  of  the  pen,  and  dipping  in  the  inkstand. 
Three  pairs  ot  eyes  glared  at  Mr.  Pollock  upon  his  entrance,  with 
that  unmistakable  expression  of  “ What  the  devil  do  you  want 
here?**  which  is  familiar  to  all  of  us, 

“ Beg  pardon,  sir,**  said  Captain  Noreton,  after  Mr.  Pollock  had 
seated  himself  in  an  easy-chair  and  lit  his  cigar,  “ p*r*aps  you  ain't 
aware  that  this  is  a private  room.*’ 

“ Right  you  are,  old  man,  and  I’m  a private  gentleman  in  it. 
Now  what  will  you  have?  What’s  your  particular  variety?  The 
wind’s  in  the  south.  Everything  looks  rosy,  and  ‘ the  goose  hangs 
high,*  as  they  say  on  the  other  side  of  the  water.  That’s  rather 
top  quality  Virginia  you’re  smoking,  old  fellow,”  continued  Mr. 
Pollock,  turning  to  Skirley.  ” What  a day  it  is!  Trade’s  pretty 
brisk,  business  real  good.  Hope,  gentlemen,  you  all  find  it  so.” 

“I  said,  sir.”  said  Captain  Noreton,  “that  this  is  a private 
i:oom.” 

“ Of  course  you  did,  you  dear  old  man;  and  didn’t  1 tell  you  1 
was  a private  gentleman?  Now,  what  will  you  take?  I’ve  just 
been  damping  my  stomach  with  a big  dose  of  bitter  ale;  and  now 
X must  have  a corrective.  Now,  sir,  as  a Christian  and  a sailor,  1 
ask  y(  u,  do  you  consider  the  rum  here  reliable?” 

Captain  Noreton  was  adamant  as  possible  concerning  the  integ- 
rity ot  the  “skipper’s  parlor.”  But  a genial  stranger  who  suff, 
gested  gratuitous  rum,  was  surely  a man  to  be  kindly  regarded.  He 
thawed  slightly  in  his  manner  as  he  replied:  “ That  liquor  was  ob' 
tamable  of  exceptional  purity  at  the  Golden  Galleon;  and  that 
though  the  gentleman  had  made  the  mistake  of  intruding  into  a 
private  room,  still,  for  once  in  a way,  they  weie  glad  to  see  him.” 

“ Once  in  a way!”  chuckled  Mr.  Pollock,  to  himself,  as  he  lang 
tor  glasses  round.  “ Why,  you  dear  old  man,  il  you  only  knew  it» 
you  won’t  get  shut  of  me  out  of  this  parlor  for  the  next  month* 
Very  cuiious  this  citodel  murder,”  continued  Mr.  Pollock  affably. 
“ Bless  my  soul,  a big  murder  always  interests  me  more  than  any 
three-volume  novel  that  ever  was  written.  Now  this  really  is  a 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


4? 


most  interesting  case.  Who  did  it?  And  why  did  he  do  it?  Pos- 
sibly, some  of  you  gentlemen  knew  Mr.  Clayford.  He  was  always 
boating,  I’m  told,  and  kept  a yacht  of  some  sort  down  about  here.’* 

‘‘  It^acht!”  rejoined  Captain  Noreton  contemptuously.  “ He  kept  a 
sort  of  halt-decked  boat,  if  you  called  that  a yacht!  No,  we  didn't 
see  much  of  him,  he  was  a bit  uppish;  he  didn’t  think  the  likes  of 
us  good  enough  for  him.  Except  by  sight,  we  none  of  us  knew 
much  about  him;  but  old  Bill  Coffin  always  vowed  he  was  a sailor, 
and  old  Bill’s  a judge  of  those  matters—did  you  say,  sir,  would  1 
do  it  again?  Thank  you,  1 don’t  care  if  1 do.” 

Mr.  Pollock  had  not  made  the  slightest  overture  to  the  calling  for 
more  liquor,  but  Captain  Noreton,  like  Mr.  William  CofiSn,  Mari- 
ner, was  possessed  of  that  grand  natural  thirst  the  which  there  is  no 
assuaging. 

“ Have  you  heard  the  news,  gentlemen?”  continued  Mr.  Pollock; 
“ are  you  aware  that  Captain  Furness —a  man  well  known  to  most 
of  you — has  been  arrested  as  the  perpetrator  of  this  citadel  murder?” 

‘‘  What,  Jack  Furness!”  exclaimed  Captain  Noreton. 

Dave  Skirl ey  took  his  pipe  slowly  out  of  his  mouth,  and  then 
said  quietly:  ” Jack  Furness!  why,  the  man  has  only  just  got  back 
to  Plymouth.  How  do  the  police  know  that  he  was  even  in  the  cita- 
del that  evening?” 

‘‘Oh!  pretty  much  as  you  know  it,  1 suppose,”  replied  Mr.  Pol- 
lock, as  he  lit  a fresh  cheroot.  “ 1 don’t  know  anything  about  it, 
but  there’s  probably  a score  of  people  who  know  that  Captain  Furr 
ness  was  in  the  citadel  that  evening.  I need  scarcely  say  that  your 
being  in  a place  like  that  when  murder  is  committed  don’t  exactly 
convict  you  of  being  the  murderer.  The  police  must  surely  have 
more  than  that  against  JiIeq;  at  all  events,  they  have  gone  the  length 
of  committing  him.  "These  county  magistrates  are  always  prepared 
to  go  a cracker  in  that  way;  they  know  very  little  law,  and  still 
less  about  evidence;  and  nothing  but  a shrewd  clerk  prevents  their 
making  periodical  fools  of  themselves.” 

“Do  you  suppose,  sir,  Jack  Furness  committed  this  crime?” 
asked  Captain  Noreton,  solemnly. 

“ 1 don’t  pretend  to  know  anything  about^  it,”  rejoined  Mr.  Pol- 
lock, pulling  hard  at  his  cheroot;  “ all  1 do  know  is  that  there  seems 
to  be  the  very  sketchiest  evidence  against  him;  so  mucn  so,  that  1 
almost  wonder  at  the  magistrates  granting  a committal.” 

“ It’s  a rum  ’un,  it  is,”  said  Dave  Skiriey,  as  he  sent  a volume  ot 
smoka  up  the  chimney;  “the  idea  of  Jack  Furness  being  arrested 


48 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


for  murder.  Odd,  loo,  he  should  be  iu  the  citadel  that  night,  tha 
he  should  be  back  and  none  of  us  know  it.’’ 

“ Ah  you  knew  him  well,  gentlemen?”  interposed  Mr.  Pollock. 

” Knew  him  well!”  rejoined  old  Koreton,  .almost  irritably;  “of 
couTse  we  knew  him  well— why,  there  wasn’t  such  a popular  young 
’un  about  the  Golden  Galleon  as  he  was.  He  have  anything  to  do 
with  this  murder!  Well!  if  they  think  that,  there^s  not  such  a 
double  distilled  set  of  tools  about  as  the  police  of  this  city.  Yes, 
shipmet,  it’s  a curious  murder,  no  doubt.  It’s  a curious  thing  Jack 
Furness  being  in  the  citadel  that  evening;  hut  lor’  bless  their  stu- 
pidity, to  suppose  he  was  mixed  up  in  it  is — ” and  here  Captain  Kore- 
ton  was  so  utterly  lost  for  a comparison  that  he  wound  up  with 
the  rather  weak  conclusion  ot,  “ damme,  impossible!” 

“Well,  it  does  seem  odd!”  said  Mr.  Pollock;  “1  suppose  they 
have  something  to  go  upon,  but  what  cause  a man  who’s  been 
away  on  a six  or  eight  months’^Voyage  could  have  for  killing  another, 
whom,  as  far  as  rumor  goes,  he  never  even  spoke  to,  I can’t  imag- 
ine.” 

“Can’t  you?”  rejoined  Dave  Skirley,  grimly;  “strikes  me  you 
ain’t  got  much  imagination  ’bout  you,  my  man.  Suppose  you  came 
home  after  a long  absence,  and  found  a chap  had  stole  what  you 
prized  more  than  anything  in  the  world,  don’t  jmu  think  you’d  feel 
a bit  wolfish,  and  anxious  to  have  it  out  with  him?” 

“ But,’"  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  with  a blank  innocence  that  did 
him  infinite  credit,  “ this  w^asn’t  a case  of  robbery;  there  wasn’t  a 
ring,  his  watch,  or  even  the  money  lying  loose  upon  the  mantebpiece 
taken  from  the  murdered  man’s  rooms.” 

“ Bah!”  rejoined  the  other,  contemptuously,  “ as  if  it  is  not  pos- 
sible to  steal  from  a man  what  he  values  higher,  ay,  far  higher  than 
jewels  or  money.  Who  knows  what  the  dead  man  has  stolen  from 
Jack  Furness?  We  shall  know,  perhaps,  when  he  is  tried,  and,  it 
may  be,  admit  there  that  if  wrong  to  take  the  law  into  his  own 
hands,  he  had  some  justification  for  his  deed.” 

“ There’s  a good  deal  in  what  you  say,  sir,”  rejoined  Mr.  Pol- 
lock, quietly,  “ 1 don’t  pretend  to  know  anything  about  it.  The 
police  are,  of  course,  in  possession  of  much  fuller  information  than 
we  possess  to  justify  this  arrest.  It  is  odd.  A curious  case;  and 
as  you  astutely  suggest,  sir,  there  is  something  in  the  background 
to  account  for  Captain  I'urness’s  proceedings.  His  mere  appear- 
ance even  in  the  citadel  that  evening  is  unaccountable.” 

“ 1 tell  you  he  didn’t  do  it,”  chimed  in  Captain  Noreton,  biing- 
mg  his  fist  heavily  down  on  the  table  in  a manner  that  made  the 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


49 


Tery  spoons  and  glasses  dance:  “ we  all  know  Jack  Furness,  and 
we  know  he  didil't  do 

Right  you  are,  sir,  tor  a doubloon,”  said  Mr.  Pollock,  cheer- 
fully, ” the  police  say  he  did,  and  nobody  else  seems  to  think  so; 
but  you  know,  gentlemen,  the  police  are  bound  to  say  somebody  did 
it  After  a short  time  they  can’t  go  on  saying  they  don’t  know. 
You  may  know,  or  you  may  not  know,  but  there’s  a good  many 
professions  in  which  it  never  does  to  acknowledge  your  ignorance. 
Now,  shipmets,  you’ve  been  in  tight  places,  no  doubt,  in  the  course 
of  your  experience,  but  you  know  very  well  it  never  did  to  tell  the 
crew  that  you  didn’t  know  where  the  devil  you  were.” 

“ Been  much  at  sea,  sir?”  inquired  Captain  Noreton.  “ One  can 
see  with  half  an  eye  that  you’re  not  in  the  profession;  but,  p’raps, 
you’ve  been  about  a bit.” 

“You  don’t  happen  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  police,  do 
you?”  inquired  Mr.  Skirley,  in  a low  tone, 

“ I’ve  been  at  sea  above  a bit,  gentlemen,”  replied  Mr.  Pollock, 
“and  I’ve  nothing  to  do  whatever  with  the  Plymouth  police.” 
And  as  he  spoke  the  inspector  rose,  and  putting  on  his  hat,  nodded 
an  affable  farewell  to  the  pair. 

A man  may  say  that  he’s  been  to  sea  above  a bit  who  has  crossed 
the  channel  twice,  and  been  about  thrice  to  the  Nore.  Mr.  Pollock 
also  certainly  did  not  belong  to  the  Plymouth  police.  The  answer 
was  Jesuitical,  but  Mr.  Pollock  thought  it  high  time  to  stop  further 
inquiry  into  his  own  peculiar  pursuits. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CAPTAIN  NORETON  ON  YARNS. 

The  appearance  of  Captain  John  Furness  before  the  magistrates, 
on  a charge  of  being  mixed  up  in  the  famous  citadel  murder,  ex- 
cited no  little  eurioBity  in  Plymouth.  The  dashing,  free-handed 
young  sailor  was  well  known  in  the  town;  much  respected  for  his 
seamanlike  qualities,  which  had  given  him  command  of  a fine  ship 
at  a very  early  age,  and  also  much  liked  for  himself.  Men  and 
women,  and  especially  the  latter,  were  wont  to  wax  rather  enthusi- 
astic when  speaking  of  “ Jack  Furness.”  He  had  both  good  looks, 
and  that  frank,  deferential  manner  which  always  enlists  the  sym- 
pathies of  the  softer  sex.  Jack  Furness  couldn’t  have  said  a harsh 
word  to  a woman  to  save  his  life,  and  the  idea  that  he  should  be 
deemed  guilty  of  having  anything  to  do  with  Ihe  death  of  Mr, 


60 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


Clayford  seemed,  to  those  who  knew  him,  incredible:  and  there 
was  much  growlins:  about  the  stupidity  of  the  local  police  in  conse- 
quence. Still,  there  were  cooler  heads  who  argued,  improbable 
that  it  should  be  so,  if  you  like,  but  let  us  hear  what  they  have  to 
say.  They  have  hardly  arrested  this  man  without  some  grounds. 

“ Arrest  him!”  growled  old  Captain  Noreton,  who  had  made  his 
way  into  the  body  of  the  court;  “ they  were  bound  to  take  up  some- 
body, just  to  appear  busy  dike — might  have  been  you ; might  have 
been  me.  Lord!  what  do  they  know  about  it?  Enough  for  them, 
1 s’pose,  the  man’s  in  Plymouth.” 

Captain  Noreton  had  a very  poor  opinion  of  the  police.  The 
veteran  skipper  was  wont  to  be  quarrelsome  in  his  cups;  and  as, 
though  rigidly  abstemious  when  afloat,  he  was  usually  in  his  cups 
when  ashore,  it  Lad  led  him  in  his  younger  days  into  considerable 
dlHerences  with  the  guardians  of  the  public  peace. 

The  gentleman  who  represented  the  Crown  opened  his  case  very 
briefly.  He  said  it  was  only  his  intention  at  present  to  offer  sufid- 
cient  evidence  to  justify  a remand;  that  Captain  Furness  had  been 
in  Plymouth  for  some  days,  and  apparently  keeping  his  presence 
concealed  from  all  his  friends  and  acquaintances;  that  his  proceed- 
ings  had  been  quite  contrary  to  his  usual  habits;  and  that  he  should 
produce  evidence  to  show  that  the  prisoner  was  not  only  seen  in  the 
citadel,  but  in  the  vicinity  of  the  officers’  quarters.  That  another 
singular  circumstance  was  that,  howem*  he  left  the  place,  it  was 
not  by  the  gate,  but  by  some  means  of  his  own.  He  should  prove 
that  it  was  possible  to  descend  from  the  ramparts,  and  thus  get  out- 
side after  the  gates  were  closed;  but  he  said,  laying  marked  empha- 
sis on  the  remark,  ” A man  must  have  some  object  in  thus  evading 
public  notice.”  Further,  that  the  prisoner,  while  admitting  that  he 
had  been  in  the  citadel  on  the  day  and  at  the  time  mentioned,  posi- 
tively declined  to  give  the  slightest  explanation  of  why  he  was 
there,  or  how,  or  at  what  time  he  left. 

Mr,  Faker  then  proceeded  to  call  the  sentry  who  had  been  on  the 
ramparts  in  the  rear  of  Mr,  Clay  ford’s  quarters  at  the  time  the  mur- 
der was  committed.  The  man,  wffio  had  heard  the  two  shots,  who 
swore  that  he  had  seen  the  prisoner  lounging  near  his  post  some 
half  hour  before,  had  noticed  him  particularly,  for  ho  had  been 
tneie  some  time.  Two  (»f  the  officers’  servants  deposed  to  seeing 
him  in  front  of  the  quarters;  whilst  the  non-commissioned  officers 
and  sentry  on  the  gate  swore  positively  that  they  had  never  seen  him 
pass  out.  The  sentry  on  duty  there  perfectly  recollected  his  passing 
in  a few  minutes  after  six;  but  neither  he  nor  his  successors  ever 


STEUCK  DOWN. 


61 


saw  him  again.  Captain  Furness,  it  was  also  demonstrated,  was 
further  a somewhat  notable  character.  He  was  a tall,  good-looking 
fellow,  and,  unlike  merchant  skippers  generally,  attecled  a certain 
amount  of  nautical  dandyism  in  his  attire.  Folks  would  not  have 
been  much  surprised,  for  instance,  to  hear  that  he  was  the  owner  of 
a smart  yacht.  A man  this,  likely  to  catch  the  eye  and  be  easily 
recalled  to  the  memory;  and  the  witnesses  were  all  very  positive 
with  regard  to  his  identity.  Against  this  the  gentleman  retained  in 
Captain  Furness’s  interests  pointed  out  that  the  lamparts  of  the 
citadel  were  a very  favorite  lounge  for  the  Plymouth  public;  that  a 
suspicious  character  seen  loitering  about  the  vicinity  immediately 
before  the  great  crime  had  been  committed  naturally  incurred  a taint 
of  suspicion,  but  with  a man  whose  antecedents  were  stainless  the 
case  was  different;  that  there  was  not  a shred  of  evidence  against 
his  client;  and  he  appealed  to  the  magistrates  to  discharge  him  at 
once.  As  to  the  sentry  not  having  seen  Captain  Furness  pass  out  of 
the  gate — well!  sentries  were  not  infallible.  They  sometimes  did 
not  see  everything  that  went  on  in  the  neighborhood  of  their  posts, 
and,  finally,  that  a gentleman  in  his  client’s  position  might  very 
reasonably  feel  so  indignant  at  such  an  unfounded  accusation  being 
brought  against  him  as  to  decline  any  explanation  of  his  presence 
or  his  conduct  on  the  occasion.  A more  unheard-of  infringement 
of  the  liberty  of  the  subject  had  never,  perhaps,  been  committed, 
and  if  Captain  Furness  was  guided  by  him,  whoever  authorized  his 
arrest  would  pay  pretty  dearly  tor  his  whistle. 

The  gentleman  conducting  the  case  for  the  crown  had  naturally  a 
few  words  to  say  in  answer  to  this.  While  quite  admitting  that 
proof  was  far  from  conclusive  against  the  accused,  he  urged  there 
was  quite  sufficient  suspicion  attaching  to  him  to  warrant  a remand. 
He  said  that  time  had  not  as  yet  admitted  of  the  full  collection  of 
evidence,  but  that  daily  more  circumstances  were  being  elucidated 
in  the  unraveling  of  this  most  mysterious  murder.  That  it  would 
be  premature  on  his  part,  or  on  the  part  of  the  police,  to  produce 
their  case  in  full  till  they  had  pieced  their  story  more  thoroughly 
together.  “ But,  gentlemen,  this  appears  to  me  to  be  a most  flagrant 
case  of  taking  the  life  of  an  uprignt,  honorable  man.  Such  a crime 
can  not  be  slurred  or  passed  over,  and  if  suspicion  piles  itself  up 
against  any  one,  1 feel  sure  that  you  will  feel  it  your  duty  to  detain 
him  until  such  suspicion  is  dissipated.  Captain  Furness  could  dis- 
pel this  cloud  in  one  moment,  if  he  chose  to  account  for  his  presence 
in  the  citadel,  or  how  he  left  it,  on  that  eventful  evening.  He  de- 
liberately declines  to  explain  all  this,  and  therefore  1 feel  justified  in 


52 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


asking  for  a remand  at  your  hands,  till  further  inquiry  is  made  into 
this  tragedy.  No  feeling  but  one  of  regret  can  possibly  be  expressed 
by  me,  or  by  any  one  who  knows  Captain  Furness,  that  he  should 
be  placed  in  this  painful  position;  still,  there  is  no  denying,  it  is 
due  partially  to  hia  own  obstinacy,  and  that  nothing  can  now 
thoroughly  exonerate  him  from  participation  in  the  crime  but  his 
facing  the  investigation  that  1 request/’ 

As  the  shrewd  solicitor  who  had  been  retained  for  the  crown  sat 
down,  every  one  in  court  felt  that  Captain  Furness  was  certain  to 
be  remanded  on  the  charge  of  willfully  slaying  Mr.  Clayford,  of  the 
——til  regiment,  in  the  citadel  on  that  bright  July  evening.  It  was  a 
certainty;  country  justice  is  usually  very  purblind,  but  even  it  un- 
derstands, when  the  possible  culprit  is  in  the  trap,  it  is  safer  to  keep 
him  in  his  cage  a few  days  longer,  than  to  prematurely  open  the 
door;  and,  as  was  expected.  Captain  Furness  was  remanded  for 
tUat  day  week. 

“ He  ain’t  done  it  any  more  than  1 have!”  exclaimed  Captain 
Nm’eton,  dogmatically,  as  he  bustled  his  way  out  of  the  court. 

” Eight  you  are,”  rejoined  Mr.  Pollock,  cheerily;  ” but  don’t  you 
get  edgy,  old  man.  Bless  you,  there’s  a many  things  turns  up  in  a 
week.  Why,  there’s  many  a man  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  who 
began  on  a Monday  and  found  either  the  workhouse  or  a mansion 
in  Bel  grave  Square  ready  for  him  on  the  Monday  following.  Dear 
me!  it’s  a queer  world:  it’s  possible  to  go  to  church  on  a Sunday  in 
a respectable  way  with  the  wife  and  kids,  and  to  find  yourself  in 
Millbank  for  having  cut  their  blessed  little  throals  that  day  week! 
You  can’t  tell,  sir;  human  nature  is  up  to  such  games  that  you 
never  know  where  to  have  it.  Bless  me!  look  at  ’em  all.  There’s 
Doctor  Dodd,  in  years  gone  by  a fashionable  clergyman,  as  I’m  told, 
who  couldn't  refrain  from  writing  other  people’s  names.  There 
was  Mr.  Fauntleroy,  the  banker,  one  of  the  biggest  swells  of  fash- 
ionable society,  he  had  the  same  weakness;  and  they  both  of  ’em, 
to  the  astonishment  of  tile  world,  died  in  their  shoes  in  front  of 
Newgate.  Games,  sir;  human  nature  is  always  up  to  games. 
Wasn’t  there  a respectable  school-master  who  did  away  with  the 
woman  to  whom  he  had  been  married  thirty  years  and  upward,  and 
packed  her  up  in  a box  for  undefined  purjioses  of  exportation?  He 
was  voted  mad,  that  one;  but,  bless  you!  I'm  not  quite  certain 
about  it.  Men  and  women,  as  far  as  1 reckon  ’em  up,  have  always 
got  a bit  of  the  monkey  and  a bit  of  the  tiger  about  ’em,  which  it  only 
wants  circumstances  to  develop.  You  come  along  with  me,  cap’n, 
and  we’ll  just  go  back  to  the  Golden  Galleon,  and  rinse  our 


STRUCK  UOWiT. 


53 


mouths  out.  No,  no,  sir,  as  1 said  before,  human  natur*  is  rather 
difficult  to  count  upon;  but  1 don’t  believe  that  Captain  Furness 
had  anything  more  to  do  with  that  murder  than  you  or  1 had.” 

“ Right  you  are,  mate,  and  we’ll  just  stroll  down  to  the  Barbi- 
can, and  have  a real  nor’ -easier  on  the  strength  of  it.  Don’t  you  be 
shy,  my  lad;  we  don’t  welcome  everybody  in  the  skipper’s  parlor; 
but  when  Captain  Noreton  lakes  a chap  up— well!  it’s  his  own  fault 
if  he  can’t  get  along  there.” 

” Very  good  of  you,  indeed,  I’m  sure,  to  say  so,”  replied  Mr. 
Pollock;  “I’m  quite  a stranger^  with  hardly  any  acquaintance  in 
the  place,  and  the  privilege  of  dropping  into  your  room  and  enjoy- 
ing the  society  of  a lot  of  naval  gentlemen,  with  all  your  wonderful 
experiences,  is  a great  treat  to  a Londoner  like  myself.” 

“ Londoner!  are  you  now?  Why,  bless  me,  there’s  a deal  of  life 
to  be  seen  about  Gravesend,  the  docks,  and  in  the  Pool.  Why  a 
man  o’  your  advantages  ought  to  have  a carpet-hag  full  of  yams!” 

“ That’s  what  is  so  hard  about  it;  my  tastes  are  all  nautical,  and 
fate  has  compelled  me  to  do  the  commercial- traveler  business.” 

“ \Vhat!  you  deal  in  laces  and  ribbons  and  such  like  frippery? 
poor  beggar!”  and  Captain  Noreton  looked  at  his  companion  with 
undisguised  pity.  “ Hum!  you  don’t  look  quite  that  sort  of  chap, 
either.” 

“ Well,  no,  captain— my  soul’s  not  in  it,  you  see.  I’d  always  a 
hankering  after  ths  stormy  ocean,  the  Spanish  Main,  pirates,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  it’s  a treat  to  me  to  associate  with  gentle- 
men who’ve  seen  it  all.” 

Captain  Noreton  stopped  short  in  the  street  and  looked  Mr.  Pol- 
lock all  over.  “Well!”  he  said,  “I’m  dashed;  pirates!  why  I 
never  heard  of  such  gentry  being  about,  except  maybe  in  the  Chinese 
waters,  since  1 was  first  rope’s-ended.  You’ve  been  a reading  some 
of  them  nautical  romances.  Why,  bless  your  innocence!  the  Chan- 
nel nowadays  is  as  well  lit  as  George  Street,  and  as  for  the  ocean, 
why  it’s  as  well  p’liced  as  this  city.” 

“ Never  mind,  captain,”  rejoined  Mr.  Pollock,  laughing  merrily, 
“ 1 dare  say  some  of  your  comrades  will  be  ready  to  administer  to 
my  appetite  when  they  discover  its  direction;  you  seafaring  gentry 
being  able  to  spin  a yarn;  and,  bless  you!  what  does  it  matter  if  it’s 
true  or  not?  A good  story  is  a good  story,  and  who  cares  whether 
it  really  happened?” 

“ I ain’t  one  of  that  sort  myself,”  said  Captain  Noreton,  solemn- 
ly, “ and  1 don’t  hold  much  with  talKing  for  ihe  sake  of  talking, 
and  when  1 does  tell  a tale  1 generally  state  hard  facts,  either  from 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


64 

my  own  personal  observations  or  from  that  of  a friend  whom  1 can 
rely  on ; but,  never  mind,  1 like  you,  and  you  will  suit  us.  And 
don't  be  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed/'  concluded  Captain 
■Noreton,  as  they  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  Golden  Galleon. 
“ There's  some  on  'em  in  there,"  and  he  jerked  his  thumb  in  the 
direction  of  the  skipper’s  parlor,  “ who  can  pay  it  out  tremenjom,*'' 


CHAPTER  XL 

MR.  POLLOCK  PAYS  HIS  BILL, 

The  Senora  gazed  with  no  little  astonishment  as  Mr.  Pollock  fol- 
lowed his  new  friend  toward  the  skipper's  parlor.  She  had  been, 
it  may  be  remembered,  upstairs  when  he  had  first  violated  that  sanc- 
tum, and  she  was  much  surprised  to  see  him  appear  to  be  hand  and 
glove  with  grim  old  Captain  Noreton.  What  had  brought  this  mys- 
terious stranger  to  the  Golden  Galleon?  Nobody  accustomed  to 
the  ways  of  sailors  would  ever  suppose  him  to  be  one  of  that  call- 
ing. A genuine  salt  has  ways  of  his  own  and  a smack  of  the  sea 
that  are  unmistakable.  The  Senora  was  far  too  good  a judge  of 
the  craft  to  make  any  mistake  of  that  nature.  Mr.  Pollock  had 
guessed  rightly  that  this  murder  was  the  source  of  great  pain  and 
anguish  to  her.  What  he  wished  to  arrive  at  was,  why  it  was  so? 
Although  in  the  first  moment  he  had  thought  the  arrest  of  Jack 
Furness  an  egregious  mistake,  he  was  beginning  to  change  his  opin- 
ion. 

“1  don’t  suppose,"  he  thought,  " that  they  have  got  the  right 
man;  but  it  somehow  strikes  me,  that  it'll  bustle  up  things  all 
round.  It’s  like  throwing  a big  stone  into  a pool;  it  don’t  catch 
fish,  but  it  makes  ’em  move,  and  that’s  one  step  toward  getting  the 
hook  in  their  month.  Your  big  criminals,"  continued  Mr.  Pollock, 
philosophically,  " are  something  like  your  big  fish,  wont  to  be  some- 
what sullen  and  secretive  in  their  ways.  Yes,  the  arrest  of  Captain 
Furness  will  stir  the  pond  up;  if  he’s  not  the  right  man,  the  real 
criminal  will  no  doubt  do  something  to  commit  himself.  They  all 
do.  Dear  me,  just  think  of  that  famous  case  iii  which  the  criminal, 
something  like  two  years  after  the  murder,  exhumed  his  victim, 
packed  up  her  head  and  part  of  her  remains,  and  left  the  parcel  in 
charge  of  his  clerk.  1 suppose  it’s  Providence,"  continued  Mr. 
Pollock,  meditatively;  " but  they  most  of  them  either  confide  their 
«ecr«t  to  somebody  without  the  slightest  faculty  for  holding  their 


STKUCK  DOWK.  55 

tongue,  or  else  transmit  something  damnatory  by  rail  which  leads 
to  their  conviction/' 

Mr.  Pollock  very  soon  succeeded  in  making  himself  free  of  the 
Golden  Galleon,  and  what  was  more,  further  established  his 
freedom  of  the  skipper's  parlor.  One  of  the  first  things  noticeable 
about  Mr.  Pollock  was  his  extensive  liberality  about  ordering  re 
fresliments  and  his  peculiar  forgetfulness  about  settling  for  them 
afterward.  It  was  not  that  he  seemed  to  lack  money;  on  the  con- 
trary, wnen  appealed  to,  his  pockets  &eemed  inv^ariably  well  lined; 
but  his  anxiety,  as  Hans  Breitman  terms  it,  “ to  put  it  on  the  slate,” 
was  curiously  persistent.  Mr.  Pollock  had  his  reasons,  he  was  not 
the  man  to  do  anything  without  a definite  motive.  If  he  joined 
gayly  in  the  festivities  of  the  skipper’s  parlor  it  was  because  he 
wanted  to  mingle  in  their  talk.  It  he  endeavord  to  run- up  a score 
at  the  bar  it  vas  because  be  was  excessively  anxious  to  obtain  a 
glimpse  ot  the  benora’s  handwriting. 

But  the  Golden  Galleon  after  the  first,  somewhat  to  Mr.  Pol- 
lock’s dismay,  proved  a house  of  the  most  confiding  disposition;  if 
the  skipper’s  parlor  passed  tne  new-comer  as  a fit  associate,  then  in 
the  eyes  of  John  Black  he  was  a man  whose  word  was  good  for  all 
he  ordered. 

The  Golden  Galleon  had  little  experience  of  bad  debts.  The 
landlord  was  a warm  man,  and  if  one  ot  his  customers  did  go  to 
sea  leaving  a score  unsettled,  fretted  little  about  it,  and  upon  the 
few  occasions  the  skipper’s  parlor  bad  to  sorrow  over  the  loss  of  a 
messmate,  John  Black  never  troubled  himself  about  what  the  ac- 
count against  him  might  be  in  the  ledger,  but  was  as  honesUy  sorry 
as  any  of  the  others,  and  in  most  cases  the  debt  was  liquidated  by 
the  dead  man’s  friends  or  relatives.  However,  Mr.  Pollock  was 
not  the  man  to  be  beat  long  on  such  a simple  question  as  this,  and 
therefore  no  sooner  had  he  succeeded  in  contracting  a small  debt  at 
the  Golden  Galleon  than  he  politely  inquired  for  his  account. 
As  he  anticipated,  it  was  made  out  for  him  by  the  Senora,  and  it 
was  with  the  greatest  possible  interest  that  he  compared  the  hand- 
writing with  those  of  the  letters,  that  he  always  carried  in  bis  breast- 
pocket, in  his  room  at  Chubb's  hotel  that  evening.  Yes,  it  scarcely 
admitted  of  a doubt.  Any  expert  in  England  would  say  that  the 
writer  of  the  account  was  the  writer  of  those  letters.  Quite  evident 
now  to  Mr.  Polluck,  that  the  Senora  had  been  the  sweetheart  of  the 
murdered  man;  equally  clear  to  him  from  what  he  had  picked  up 
in  the  skipper’s  parlor  that  this  was  a fact  perfectly  unknown  to 
the  frequenters  of  the  Golden  Galleon  and  the  denizens  of  Ply- 


56 


STRUCK  DOWN’. 


mouth  Bar.  Further,  the  detective  had  satisfied  himself  that  Cap- 
tain Furness  had  been  a pretender  to  the  Senora’s  hand,  and  what 
was  more,  in  the  opinion  of  the  famous  Tobacco  Parliament/’  of 
which  he  had  lately  been  made  a member,  stood  about  first  in  her 
good  graces. 

“ By-standers  see  most  of  the  game!’^  muttered  Mr.  Pollock, 
snappishly.  “Bubbish!  By-standers  very  often  overlook  what’s 
going  on  under  their  very  noses.  Ther.^’s  an  odd  one  here  and  there 
who  is  looking  over  the  cards,  and,  having  the  faculty  of  observa- 
tion, may  perhaps  make  a good  guess  at  who  will  score  the  trick. 
But,  bless  me  I the  by  standers  who  can  see  into  motives  and  guess 
reasons  are  not  verv  plentiful;  wouldn’t  be  so  much  call  for  our 
services  if  they  were.  No!  the  case  is  opening  out  very  prettily. 
Miss  Black’s  favored  lover  is  found  murdered  in  his  room  in  the 
citadel.  Miss  Black’s  supposed  favored  lover  returns  from  a long 
voyage  some  four  or  five  days  before  this  mischance,  and  happens^ 
to  have  been  present,  upon  mysterious  business,  in  the  citadel  at  the 
time  of  the  occurrence— leaves  nobody  knows  how.  Might  have 
had  a balloon  of  his  own,  for  all  one  could  say.  No,  slight  as  the 
evidence  is  against  him,  it  certainly  looks  fishy  lor  Captain  Fur- 
ness. And  yet— dash  it  all— 1 don’t  believe  he’s  the  man!  Still,  it 
is  quite  possible  that  a' man  coming  home  as  Captain  Furness  did, 
would  find  somebody  to  tell  him  on  his  arrival  that  his  sweetheart 
was  unfaithful,  and  men  of  that  class  are  apt  to  be  a bit  impulsive. 
Yes,  1 suppose  there’s  a bit  of  truth  in  the  old  saying,  ‘A  sailor  is 
always  ready  to  take  a glass,  or  fight  for  a lass.’  ” 

When  Mr.  Pollock  made  his  appearance  at  the  Golden  Galleon 
the  next  day  he  was  much  too  close  an  observer  not  to  be  at  once 
aware  that  the  Senora  regarded  him  both  with  distrust  and  curiosity. 
She  had  apparently  thoroughly  made  up  her  mind  as  to  the  role  she 
would  play.  As  a mere  matter  of  business  the  detective  alluded  to 
the  murder  as  one  of  the  ordinary  topics  of  conversation,  at  present 
interesting  the  public  mind,  but  the  Senora  was  impenetrable.  She 
listened  unmoved  to  the  latest  details  concerning  it,  which  Mr.  Pol- 
lock related  for  her  edification;  to  all  appearance  it  was  a matter 
that  liad  no  interest,  for  her;  and  as  the  detective  made  his  way  on 
to  the  skipper’s  parlor,  bent  her  head  in  courteous  adieu. 

“ Women  are  rum  ’uns,”  muttered  Mr.  Pollock  to  himself. 

“ Give  ’em  a few  minutes  to  pull  themselves  together  ahd  the  way 
they  will  take  punishment  is  surprising.  Now  there’s  that  girl 
must  be  sick  at  heart  over  this  murder.  There’s  no  doubt  what- 
ever she  knew  well  the  man  who  is  kiHed  and  the  one  accused  of 


STRUCK  DOWIT* 


57 


killing  him.  She  must  live  in  a stale  of  perpetual  dread  of  being 
put  in  the  witness  box  and  sharply  examioed  on  the  subject.  And 
yet  to  look  at  her  face  this  morning,  she  might  have  no  more  to  do 
with  it  than  with  a revolution  in  South  America.’’  And  as  the  in- 
spector came  to  this  conclusion  he  reached  the  door  of  the  skipper’s 
parlor. 

It  was  early  certainly,  and  the  room  was  not  wont  to  fill  up  until 
late  in  the  afternoon,  still  the  inspector  was  taken  a little  aback  at 
finding  Dave  Skirley  the  sole  inmate  of  the  apartment.  Mr.  Skir- 
ley  looked  up  aS  the  inspector  entered. 

“Nothing  new  about  that  murder,  1 suppose,”  he  said;  “our 
police  ain’t  very  spry,  or  else  they’d  have  got  hold  of  a bit  more 
than  they  seem  to  have  done.  They  must  know,  oi  should  know, 
that  there  were  a good  many  more  people  in  the  citadel  that  night 
than  Jack  Furness.  It’s  odd  they  should  have  happened  on  him. 
There’s  nobody  here  supposes  he  had  anything  to  do  with  it;  but 
as  for  getting  out  of  that  old  citadel  after  the  gates  were  closed, 
nobody  can  fancy  an  active  seaman  like  Jack  would  have  much 
difficulty  about  that.” 

“ Done  it  yourself,  no  doubt,”  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  dryly. 

“ Done  it,  bless  you,  yes;  and  lots  more  of  us.  You’re  a stranger 
in  these  parts,  or  else  you’d  know  the  ramparts  is  a great  place  for 
gallivanting.  Well!  you  know,  when  the  young  ’uns  are  keeping 
company,  they  rather  forget  how  the  clock’s  going  round.  A^nd  it 
just  as  often  happens  as  not  that  a girl  would  rather  make  her  way 
out  by  herself  than  with  a fellow  she’s  spoons  on.  I’m  not  talking 
of  anything  wrong,  mind;  but  women  get  skeary,  and  desperate 
afraid  of  being  compromised.  Ah!  well,  governor,  you’re  a Lon- 
doner, and  know  more  about  these  things  than  1 do;  but  the  time  of 
day  has  a deal  to  say  to  it.  A girl  gets  squeamish  about  her  char- 
acter after  sundown;  her  people  are  likely  to  look  askance  at  her 
if  she  comes  home  a little  late,  and  she  gets  a bit  shy  of  being  seen 
in  company  with  a man.” 

“ "What  the  deuce  are  you  driving  ai?”  interposed  Mr.  Pollock. 

“ I’m  not  driving  at  anything,”  rejoined  Mr.  Skirley;  “ 1 merely 
mean  that,  though  the  police  have  been  uncommon  keen  about  ascer- 
taining that  Jack  Furness  did  not  go  out  of  the  gate  after  gun-fire> 
they  don’t  seem  to  have  troubled  their  l^ads  about  who  the  people 
were  who  did  go  out  just  before.” 

“ I’ll  tell  you  what,  mv  lad,  you’re  a man  after  my  own  heart; 
you’re  a real  sensible  fello\^,”  replied  Mr.  Pollock.  “ Right  you 
are— on  such  a lounge  as  those  ramparts,  people  would  be  apt  tc 


58 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


linger  late  on  a summer’s  evening.  There’s  no  younsc  woman  you 
could  put  a name  to,  likely  to  be  in  the  citadel  that  night,  1 sup- 
pose?’’ 

“That’s  neither  here  nor  there;  what  1 knows,  1 knows—and 
keeps  to  myself,”  rejoined  Mr.  Skirley  sententiously.  “But  you 
seem  mightily  interested  in  this  murder.” 

“ 1 always  am  in  any  great  crime  of  this  description.  It’s  a mono- 
mania with  me.  My  dear  friend,  if  you  were  accused  of  anything 
of  the  sort,  you  can’t  conceive  the  interest  with  which  1 should  fol- 
low the  case.  1 should  know  you  were  not  guilty;  but  the  problem 
would  have  an  absorbing  interest  for  me.” 

“ Weil,  guv’nor,”  rejoined  the  other,  as  he  glanced  somewhat  un- 
easily at  his  companion,  “ you  would  be  hardly  called  a pleasant  pal 
under  those  circumstances;  but  no  doubt  the  public  take  a great  in- 
terest in  that  sort  of  thing,” 

“ They  do,  and  1 am  one  of  the  public.  Now,  it  would  be  a very 
curious  tiling,  Captain  Skirley,  if  a young  woman  turned  out  to  be 
at  the  bottom  of  this  case,  wouldn’t  it?  And,  Lord  bless  you,  a 
man  of  the  world  like  you,  knows  what  they  are.” 

Now,  Mr.  Pollock’s  speech,  albeit  made  a little  at  haphazard, 
flattered  Dave  Skirley.  Re  certainly  had  once  or  twice  been  in- 
trusted with  the  command  of  a small  ship,  but  his  position  in  the 
mercantile  navy  was  more  strictly  to  be  characterized  as  that  of  first 
mate,  and  it  was  as  such  he  was  usually  looked  upon  in  the  skip- 
per’s parlor.  It  was  sweet  incense  to  him  to  be  addressed  as  Cap- 
tain Skirley,  as  that  title  was  rarely  vouchsafed  to  him  by  the  habi- 
tues of  the  room.  Then  again,  there  never  was  a man  yet  who  was 
not  flattered  by  being  complimented  on  his  superior  knowledge  of 
the  other  sex.  They  all  think  they  understand  them,  and  it  is  only 
the  few  wily  and  experienced  veterans  who  frankly  acknowledge 
that  woman  and  her  ways  are  past  their  comprehension. 

“It  ain’t  for  me  to  speak,”  rejoined  Dave  Skirley,  at  length, 
“ but  1 should  not  be  surprised  if  you  weren’t  far  out  of  it.  The 
police  haven’t  got  to  the  kernel  of  the  case  yet;  and  1 expect  they  11 
potter  round  a good  deal  more  before  they  do.  But  I’ll  tell  you 
wl.at  it  is,”  said  Mr.  Skirley,  “you’ll  find  there’s  a pair  of  silk 
stockings  at  the  bottom  of  this,  before  you’ve  done.” 

“What  a judge  you  are!”  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  with  a wink; 
“ you  do  understand  ’em,  you  do.  That’s  it,  sir;  that’s  it.  Captain 
Skirley;  she  was  in  the  citadel,  and  waltzing  around  that  evening; 
and,  of  course,  she  «€t  the  two  by  the  ears,  and  then,  woman-like, 
she  waltzed  out.  Now,  1 wonder  if  these  fellows  here  will  ever  b't 


sI'ruck:  dowk. 


69 


upon  that?  You’ll  see,  they’ll  ^o  on  bothering  about  Captain  Fur- 
ness, sticking  to  it  that  he’s  the  man,  but  utterly  forgetting  the  main 
point,  that  they’ve  got  to  prove  he’s  the  man.  These  provincial 
peelers,  you  see,  always  ovplook  these  little  niceties.” 

” 1 say,  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  friend,  I don’t  quite  understand  a 
man  who  talks  of  niceties  about  a murder.” 

“ Ko,  no.  Captain  Skirley,  very,  very  few  people  do.  The  mur- 
derer probably  never;  but  the  man  merely  curious  in  crime,  like 
myself,  has  his  artistic  views  just  as  the  man  who  haunts  the  first 
views  of  the  picture-galleries--a  morbid  taste,  1 regret  to  own;  but 
we  can’t  control  our  fancies  in  this  manner.  Some  people  like  com- 
edy,  some  people  revel  in  tragedy.  There  are  those  who  can’t  resist 
the  attractions  of  Madame  Tussaud’s  and  the  Chamber  of  Horrors, 
and  there  have  been  those  who  couldn’t  resist  the  attraction  of  a 
* hanging  match.’  Odd,  captain,  but  a fact  all  the  same.  A mys- 
terious murder  is  always  a riddle  to  me,  the  solving  of  which  1 am 
much  interested  in;  and  I’ll  tell  you  what,  captain,  right  you  are, 
there’s  a petticoat  will  prove  to  be  the  cause  of  this;”  with  which 
Mr.  Pollock  rose  somewhat  abruptly,  and  with  a curt  ” good-day,” 
left  the  parlor. 


CHAPTER  Xll. 

TOM  LEADER  HAS  VISITORS. 

Lieutenant  Leader  was  somewhat  astonished  one  morning  in 
the  middle  of  his  toilet  by  the  appearance  of  Simmons.  In  answer 
to  his  master’s  rather  snappish  interrogatory,  ” What  the  deuce  is 
the  matter  now?”  he  replied; 

“ There’s  two  gentlemen  wanting  to  see  you,  sir.  They  say  they 
must  do  it.” 

“Did  you  tell  them  1 was  in  my  tub?”  replied  Mr.  Leader, 
sharply. 

“ Yes,  sir.  1 always  tell  ’em  that  at  this  hour  in  the  morning.” 

“ Them  ” meant  collectively  any  intruders  on  Mr.  Leader’s  pri- 
vacy, as  Simmons  was  aware  that  his  master  hated  being  bothered 
while  dressing.  Indeed,  Mr.  Leader’s  meritorious  struggles  to  be  in 
time  for  parade  admitted  of  no  interruptions. 

“ What  do  they  look  like?”  he  inquired  at  last  “ Duns?” 

“ No,  sir.  One’s  a fellow  who  has  been  loafing  about  the  ser- 
geants’ mess  ever  since  poor  Mr.  Clayford  came  by  his  death.  As 


60 


STKUCK  DOWN. 


for  the  other,  1 can  only  say  he’s  more  wrapped  up  than  any  gen- 
tleman 1 ever  saw  in  this  weather.” 

“ Well,  show  them  in,”  said  Tom.  And  in  another  minute  Sim- 
mons ushered  into  his  master's  little  sitting-room  Mr.  Pollock  and  a 
companion,  whose  lace  was  carefully  enveloped  in  a silk  muffler. 

“Oh!  it’s  you?”  said  Tom,  as  he  welcomed  the  detective.  “ Sit 
down,  both  of  you.  That’ll  do,  Simmons;  you  can  wait  outside, 
i’ll  halloa  when  I want  you.” 

“ Now,  gentleihen,  I’m  rather  in  a hurry—” 

“1  won’t  detain  you  five  minutes,”  interrupted  Mr.  Pollock. 
“ I’ve  just  about  a couple  of  questions  to  put  to  your  servant,  and 
all  1 want  to  ask  first  is,  can  he  bs  depended  upon  to  hold  his 
‘tongue,  more  especially  it  he*s  a little  bit  frightened?” 

“ Well,  as  far  as  my  knowledge  goes  he’s  not  a talkative  man. 
But  what  the  deuce  do  you  want  to  ask  him?” 

“Just  this,  Mr.  Leader.  First,  what  he  got  cartridges  for  to  fit 
your  pistol;  and,  secondly,  where  he  kept  them.” 

“ But  he  never  got  any,”  ejaculated  Tom,  in  astonishment. 

” Now,  don’t  you  fidget  yourself  about  that,  sir,  because  1 know 
he  did,  and  where  he  bought  them,  and  all  about  it.  I’m  going  to 
prove  it  to  3^011  in  about  three  minutes.  Bear  in  mind  1 don’t  think 
he  is  the  criminal,  but  he’s  keeping  bacK  a rather  important  circum- 
stance from  us.  Now,  there  are  two  ways  to  get  at  the  unwilling 
witness  of  this  kind;  one  is  insidious  cross-examination,  the  other 
is  simply  to  ‘ pounce.’  Now,  sir,  if  you  will  call  Simmons  in,  I’m 
just  going  to  pounce.” 

“ Simmons!”  roared  Mr.  Leader,  in  a state  of  much  curiosity  as 
to  what  was  to  follow.  Another  instant  and  that  servitor  entered 
the  apartment. 

“ Now,  my  man,”  said  the  detective,  sharply,  taking  the  whole 
afiair  at  once  into  his  hands,  “I’m  Inspector  Pollock,  of  Scotland 
Yard.  What  did  you  want  with  all  these  pistol  cartridges?”  and 
as  he  concluded,  he  produced  one  from  his  waistcoat  pocket. 
“ Now,  don’t  troul  le  yourself  to  deny  it,”  interposed  the  inspector, 
sharpl3%  as  Simmons  was  evidently  about  to  enter  a protestation 
“ This  cartridge  came  out  of  one  of  the  undischarged  chambers  of 
your  master’s  pistol.  There  sits  Mr.  Crinkle,  who  keeps  the  big 
shop  in  Dfcvonport  where  you  bought  them,  and  two  of  whose 
young  men  will  be  able  to  identify  you  and  swear  to  selling  them 
to  you  at  difierent  times.  Now,  don’t  you  fluster  yourself,  my  man; 
keep  cool.  1 don’t  suppose  for  a moment  that  you  shot  Mr.  Clay- 
ford;  but  it  you  are  an  innocent  man,  the  more  candid  you  are  about 


STRUCK  DOWK.  61 

those  cartridges  the  better;  If  otherwise,  you  can’t  keep  your 
mouth  too  closely  shut.  Take  time  before  you  answer.” 

The  sharp,  quick,  incisive  words  of  the  detective  seemed  to  fascL 
nate  his  hearers.  As  for  Mr.  Crinkle,  to  find  his  pleasant,  pushing, 
rather  talkative  companion  of  Chubb’s  Hotel  suddenly  transformed 
into  the  determined,  inflexible  man  of  action,  left  him  quite  bewil- 
dered. Till  Mr.  Pollock  had  announced  himself  he  had  no  concep- 
tion of  his  real  character.  The  inspector  had  suggested  that  they 
should  simply  go  up  to  the  citadel  and  see  if  they  could  identify  the 
man  wno  bought  those  cartridges.  Mr.  Crinkle  was  tickled  at  the 
idea  of  doing  a little  bit  of  amateur  detective,  and  had  no  idea  that 
one  of  the  cracks  of  Scotland  Yard  was  his  companion. 

There  was  a dead  silence  in  the  room  for  a minute  or  two,  during 
which  Simmons’s  perturbation  was  perfectly  evident  to  the  lookers- 
on. 

“Well,  Mr.  Leader,  1 meant  no  harm.  God  knows  1 bore  Mr. 
Clayford  no  ill  will;  but  I’d  better  make  a clean  breast  of  it  now 
as  I ought  to  have  done  at  first.  You  see,  sir,  1 had  to  keep  that 
pistol  clean,  and  when  1 took  it  down  it  came  across  me  one  day  to 
see  wtiether  it  really  did  shoot  well,  and,  shortly  after  that,  1 got  a 
batch  of  cartridges  to  fit  it,  and  then  1 had  a bit  of  private  practice 
at  the  back  of  the  ditch.  Well,  sir,  1 got  rather  fond  of  it,  and  the 
consequence  was  that  whenever  1 cleaned  her  1 had  fifteen  or  twenty 
shots  out  of  her.  1 usually  kept  such  cartridges  as  were  over  down 
in  tiie  kitchen.” 

“ That’ll  do,  my  man,”  said  Mr.  Pollock.  “ I^ow,  Mr.  Leader, 
if  you  will  allow  me  to  put  one  more  question,  this  man  may  go, 
and  1 don’t  think  1 shall  want  him  again,  except  in  the  witness- 
box.” 

“ Certainly;  fire  away,”  rejoined  Tom,  who  had  listened  to  this 
simple  explanation  of  what  had  seemed  such  an  inscrutable  mystery 
with  the  greatest  interest. 

“You  are  quite  certain,”  said  Mr,  Pollock,  “ that  the  pistol  was 
unloaded  when  you  last  hung  it  up?”  ♦ 

“ Quite,”  replied  Simmons;  “ 1 always  cleaned  it  after  using  it. 
To  have  left  it  loaded  would  have  been,  perhaps,  to  let  my  master 
discover  what  1 was  doing.” 

“And  of  course,”  suddenly  interposed  Mr.  Pollock,  sharply> 
“ there  was  nothing  to  prevent  any  one  getting  at  these  cartridges  if 
they  wanted  to  do  so?*  They  weren’t  locked  up.  1 mean?” 

“No,  sir.  They  were  in  a drawer  of  the  old  dresser  in  the  kitch 
en.  There  are  some  there  now.  1 can’t  rightly  say  how  many 


6% 


STRUCK  DOWN, 


without  looking,  nor  could  I say  for  certain  whether  any  have  been 
taken  from  the  drawer  or  not.  ’’ 

“ Thank  you,  my  man,’’  said  Mr.  Pollock,  affably.  “'It’s  a thou- 
sand pities  you  couldn’t  have  conie  out  with  all  this  at  the  inquest. 
“Sou  see  we  know  now  how  that  pistol  could  be  loaded.  Anybody 
surreptitiously  wandering  about  the  premises  would  be  likely  to  find 
both  pistol  and  ammunition.  That  point  is  solved.  That’ll  do, 
thank  you,  Simmons.  Now,  Mr.  Leader,”  he  continued,  as  the 
servant  left  the  room,  “ 1 don’t  want  this  little  discovery  mentioned. 
Not,  mind  you,  that  1 want  to  keep  a gentleman  like  yourself  in  the 
darl^.  Besides,  bless  me,  what  would  be  the  use  of  my  trying  to 
mystify  a couple  of  inlelligent  gentlemen  like  you  and  Mr.  Crinkle? 
It’s  all  clear  enough  now.  All  we’ve  got  to  find  out  is,  who  used 
that  pistol?” 

“ Just  so,”  said  Mr.  Leader,  who  really  did  labor  under  the  delu- 
sion that  they  were  close  on  the  track  of  the  murderer. 

Mr.  Crinkle,  with  a mind  trained  to  acute  inquiry,  knew  better. 
They  had  made  a slight  step  on  the  road  to  discovery  by  ascertain- 
ing how  the  cartridges  had  been  obtained  with  which  the  pistol  was 
loaded,  but  they  had  got  no  further. 

As  they  left  Mr.  Leader’s  quarters,  Mr.  Crinkle  ventured  to  make 
a remark  to  that  effect. 

Mr.  Pollock  smiled  compassionately  upon  his  companion,  as  he 
rejoined : 

“ Now,  Mr.  Crinkle,  you’re  a man  with  a head  and  not  a cocoa- 
nut.  You  don’t  suppose  1 haven’t  more  cards  in  my  hand  than  1 
put  down  on  the  table  to-day?  But,  dear  me,  it  would  never  do  to 
let  a young  gentleman  like  Mr.  Leader  into  it.  Why,  he’ll  tell  the 
story  of  those  cartridges  at  lunch,  dinner,  and  two  or  three  supper 
parties  before  he  goes  to  bed  to-night.  Very  few  of  ’em  at  his  age 
could  help  it.  Well,  it  can’t  do  much  harm,  and  what’s  more  to 
the  point,  1 couldn’t  prevent  it.  1 was  bound  to  know  the  history 
of  those  cartridges  before  we  went  any  further.  Now,  Mr.  Crinkle, 
you’re  a close  man.  You  can  keep  your  tongue  between  your  teeih, 
you  can.  The  story  of  those  cartridges  and  two  or  three  other  things, 
1 don’t  mind  confessing  to  you,  make  things  look  uncommon  awk- 
ward for  the  prisoner.  But  it’s  a lovely  case,  sir,  a lovely  case,  and 
it’s  quite  possible  we  haven’t  started  the  right  hare  as  yet.” 

Still,  after  parting  with  his  friend  Mr.  Crinkle,  Mr.  Pollock,  as 
he  turned  things  over  in  his  mind,  could  come  to  no  other  conclu- 
sion but  the  evidence  commenced  to  accumulate  against  Jack  Fur- 
ness. He  knew  what  the  public  did  not  know—that  there  was 


STRUCK 


d3 


rivalry  between  the  two  men  for  the  girRs  love,  and  what  that  lias 
led  to  is  an  old  world  story.  And  now  that  it  was  explained  that  the 
pistol  could  be  almost  said  to  have  been  found  loaded  to  his  hand, 
one  might  get  an  inkling  of  the  truth.  Mr.  Pollock’s  rough  theory 
of  the  tragedy  at  present  was  that  Furness,  mad  for  an  explanation 
with  his  rival,  got  into  Mr.  Leader’s  quarters  by  mistake;  that, 
chafing  with  impatience  at  Mr.  Clay  ford’s  non-appearance,  he 
fidgeted  about  the  room  till  he  found  the  pistol;  then,  getting  still 
more  irritable,  he  wandered  down-stairs  to  the  kitchen,  in  search 
probably  of  somebody  who  could  tell  him  where  he  could  see  Mr. 
Clayford,  and  there  found  the  cartridges ; that  then  waxing  hotter 
and  hotter  in  his  wrath,  he  loaded  the  pistol,  and  having  by  some 
accident  at  length  discovered  he  was  in  the  wrong  rooms,  made  his 
way  to  Clayford’s  quarters,  and  there,  furious  at  his  supposed 
wrongs,  intensified  by  the  hour  he  had  had  to  brood  over  them,  he 
used  the  pistol  with  the  fatal  result  recorded,  and  then  escaped  over 
the  back  of  the  rampart. 

“ Yes,”  muttered  Mr.  Pollock,  ^ 1 can’t  anyhow  see  more  than 
two  in  it.  There  is,  of  course,  just  a suspicion  that  the  girl  might 
have  done  it  herself,  but  it  is  hardly  likely;  they  do  kill  their  sweet- 
hearts at  times,  but  this  last  letter  of  hers  doesn’t  point  to  that.  She 
don’t  even  hint  at  going  near  his  rooms.  She  merely  invites  him  to 
meet  her  on  the  ramparts;  which,  as  everybody  tells  me,  is  about  as 
open  a promenade  as  the  Hoe.  Still  there  is  just  the  chance,  and, 
though  1 can’t  see  a panicle  of  evidence  against  her  at  present,  one 
can  never  tell  the  unforeseen  that  may  turn  up  in  a business  of  this 
sort.” 

As  Mr.  Pollock  rightly  surmised,  Mr.  Leader  had  told  the  story 
of  those  cartridges,  under  the  seal  of  strictest  confidence,  to  half  a 
dozen  people  before  luncheon.  Of  course  it  became  common  prop- 
erty through  the  barracks  in  a few  hours,  and  then  there  was  more 
than  one  of  the  men  who  could  testify  to  Simmons’s  weakness  for 
pistol  practice.  When  a fact  like  this  became  so  well  known  in  the 
citadel,  it  was  not  likely  to  be  very  long  finding  its  way  down  the 
Citadel  Hill,  and  the  consequence  was  that  all  the  western  local 
papers  had  startling  headings  in  their  next  issue,  such  as  ” The 
Citadel  Mystery,” Discovery  of  the  Cartridges,”  “Clew  to  the 
Murderer,”  etc.  The  “ Plymouth  and  Exeter  Gazette  ” arrived  as 
usual  at  the  Golden  Galleon,  where,  as  may  be  easily  supposed, 
it  was  diligently  perused  in  the  skipper’s  parlor.  There  was,  per- 
haps, no  section  of  the  inhabitants  of  Plymouth  more  deeply  inter- 
ested in  this  inquiry  than  the  t^e^tienters  of  that  hostelry.  Was  not 


64 


STEUCK  DOWK. 


Jack  Furness  one  of  themselves?  Was  it  not  preposterous  to  sup» 
pose  that  any  one  of  them  could  commit  a cowardly  murder?  Kill 
a man  in  fair  light!— well,  perhaps  that  did  occur  sometimes  in  Ihe 
way  ot  their  profession,  but  a cold-blooded  murder— There 
was  ne’er  a man  in  the  skipper’s  parlor  who  would  be  guilty  of  such 
cur’s  work  as  that.  Very  positive  on  this  point  was  Captain  Nore- 
ton, not  given  to  say  much,  but  very  emphatic,  in  what  he  did  say, 
and  garnishing  it  with  strong  language,  not  necessary  to  reproduce, 
and  the  brotherhood  generally  quite  supported  this  opinion.  Btili 
there  were  one  or  two  exceptions,  and  notably  the  head  of  these  was 
Dave  Skirl ey,  who  argued: 

“You  can’t  tell  what  provocation  was  offered  a man.  It’s  all 
very  well,”  he  would  say,  “ what  do  you  know  about  its  being  a 
cold-blooded  murder?  It’s  quite  possible  that  the  man’s  blood  was 
at  boiling-point  when  he  did  it.  There  ain’t  nothing  to  show  to  ihe 
contrary.  If  Jack  Furness  did  do  it,  it  isn’t  likely,  as  you  all  say, 
that  he  did  it  without  strong  provocation.  But  how  do  you  know 
he  didn’t  get  it?  that’s  what  1 want  to  know.” 

” Cleverly  put.  Captain  Skirley,  cleverly  put,”  chimed  in  Mr. 
Pollock,  who  assisted  with  the  greatest  interest  at  most  of  these  dis^ 
cussions;  ” we  never  can  tell,  we  never  can  tell;  there  might  have 
been  a young  woman  mixed  up  in  it,  for  all  we  know.  Gracious 
me!  a bit  of  muslin  has  set  the  world  in  flames,  much  more  a mere 
human  being,  over  and  over  again,  since  the  days  ot  that  old  Greek 
chap  who  wrote  such  a big  book  about  it,  and  1 dare  say  before,  only 
there  was  nobody  to  put  it  down.” 

But  tnere  was  one  person  at  the  Golden  Galleon  who,  although 
outwardly  professing  the  greatest  indifference  concerning  the  citadel 
mystery,  showed  in  her  face  the  absorbing  interest  she  took  in  it  all. 
Those  veteran  mariners  shook  their  heads,  and,  honest  old  sea-dogs, 
tried  to  cheer  her  up  by  telling  her  that  nobody  believed  Jack  Fur- 
ness was  guilty.  But  the  dark  circles  under  the  girl’s  eyes,  their 
scared,  frightened  expression,  and  the  wan,  listless  smile,  all  pointed 
to  the  nervous  tension  she  was  enduring. 

” Difficult  to  follow  are  young  women,”  growled  Captain  Nore- 
ton; ” never  guessed  she  was  so  sweet,  poor  thing,  on  Jack  Furness 
myself.” 

Mr.  Pollock  not  only  noticed  the  change  in  the  Senora’s  manner 
and  appearance,  but  pretty  well  everthing  else  that  passed  under  the 
roof  of  the  Golden  Galleon.  That  tavern,  indeed,  had  never  en- 
tertained a guest  before  witii  such  powers  of  observation. 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


65 


CHAPTER  Xlll. 

THE  ANONYMOUS  LETTERS. 

The  Dext  link  in  the  chain  of  the  citadel  mystery  was  again  dis- 
covered by  the  Plymouth  police.  They  had  not  only  got  hold  of 
what  they  firmly  believed  to  be  the  real  criminal,  but  they  had  also 
discovered  two  very  damaging  letters  against  him.  After  the  arrest 
of  Captain  Furnt.ss,  the  police  made  inquisition,  not  into  his  new 
apartment  at  the  Golden  Galleon,  but  into  his  late  quarters. 
There  they  found  a big  sea-chest  that  had  been  left  behind,  together 
with  one  or  two  smaller  packages.  As  for  the  sea-chest,  its  contents 
were  pretty  much  what  might  be  expected,  with  one  exception.  In 
it  was  a small  writing-desk,  and  amongst  the  few  letters  which  it 
contained  were  the  two  above  alluded  to,  of  which  Mr.  Pollock 
at  once  recognized  the  importance.  One  had  been  addressed  to  the 
ship’s  agents,  and  evidently  forwarded  to  Falmouth,  doubtless  with 
other  papers,  on  Captain  Furness  unexpectedly  putting  in  at  that 
port;  the  other  bore  nothing  but  the  Plymouth  postmark,  and  was 
directed  to  the  address  in  Devonport  at  which  the  prisoner  had  re- 
sided previous  to  his  appearance  at  the  Golden  Galleon.  The 
first  of  them  ran : 

“ There  is  a merry  welcome  prepared  for  you  when  you  touch 
shoie.  The  girl  whom  yuu  think  cares  about  you,  has  done  her 
best  to  console  herself  while  you  were  afloat.  Make  up  your  mind 
iQ  find  yourself  cut  adrift  when  you  arrive  at  Plymouth.  It’s  the 
way  of  ’em  all.  Take  advice  and  be  a man;  whistle  her  down  the 
wind,  unless,  indeed,  you’re  the  sort  the  writer  is,  who  stands  pirat- 
ical cutting  out  from  no  man.  If  1 found  a soldier  oflQcer  had  laid 
himself  alongside  a girl  of  my  choosing,  1 think  I’d  choke  the  life 
out  of  him.  Yours  truly, 

A well-wisher.” 

The  second  letter,  which  bore  only  the  Plymouth  postmark,  and 
was  evidently  in  the  same  handwriting  as  the  first,  was  as  follows: 

” Well,  you’ve  ascertained  for  yourself  by  this  time  that  what  1 
told  you  is  true.  You  know  that  the  girl  whom  you  were  trying 
hard  to  win  has  picked  up  another  sweetheart.  If  you  want  to  con- 
vince yourself  of  tl.e  fact,  you’d  best  be  on  the  citadel  ramparts 
between  eight  and  nine  to-night  at  the  back  of  the  officers’  quarters. 
If  you  don’t  find  her  there,  perhaps  you’d  better  ask  for  Mr.  Clay- 
cord’s  rooms.  No  doubt  you  will  convince  yourself  that  she  can 
manage  to  get  on  without  you.  Yours  truly, 

” A SINCERE  well-wisher.” 


i 


8 


66 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


AVhen  Mr.  Pollock  read  these  two  letters,  piecing  in  as  they  so 
accurately  did  with  those  other  three  letters,  which  he  always  car- 
ried in  his  pocket,  he  simply  said  to  himself:  “ I’ll  put  the  mur- 
derer of  Mr.  Clayford  in  the  dock,  I’d  stake  my  head.  Whether  a 
jury  choose  to  convict  him,  or  a judge  to  hang  him,  is  not  my  bus- 
iness. 1 can’t  put  my  finger  on  him  this  minute,  bat  1 should  be 
utterly  unworthy  ot  my  reputation  if,  with  all  the  information  now 
so  rapidly  falling  into  my  possession,  1 couldn’t  pick  him  out  for 
certain  in  the  next  three  weeks.  Two  points  are  pretty  clear  to  me 
from  these  letters.  The  writer  was  undoubtedly,  from  their  style 
and  the  language  they  are  couched  in,  a sea-faring  man;  and  another 
thing,  the  Senora  was  on  the  citadel  ramparts  that  luckless  evening. 
"Whether  she  met  Furness,  whether  she  met  Clayford,  or  whether 
these  two  men  met,  is  what  I’ve  got  to  discover.  She  left,  i^o  doubt, 
before  the  gates  were  closed.  Another  point,  too:  this  ‘ well- 
wisher  ’ must  probably  have  borne  considerable  enmity  to  one  or  the 
other,  or  he  never  would  have  penned  those  notes.  It  is  not  quite 
the  way  a friend  of  either  party  would  conduct  himself  under  the 
circumstances.  No,  there’s  malice  at  the  bottom  of  it,  and  1 don’t 
suppose  their  writer  is  much  concerned  at  the  tragedy  he  has  ingen- 
iously brought  about.  One  thing  is  quite  clear,  he  .meant  to  bring 
these  two  men  face  to  face,  and  when  two  young  men  are  nuts  on 
the  same  young  woman  theie’s  safe  to  be  bad  blood  between  them. 
Still,  it  wants  a lot  more  piecing  out.  How  did  Furness  get  into 
Leader’s  room?  what  on  earth  set  him  hunting  for  cartridges?  and 
did  the  Senora  meet  both,  or  either  of  them?  Well,  the  first  thing, 
no  doubt,  is,  1 must  examine  the  sentries  who  were  on  the  citadel 
gate,  or  rather  get  Major  GrifiSth  to  do  so.  1 don’t  quite  want  to 
proclaim  my  individuality  as  yet,  as  1 am  afraid  it  would  close  the 
mouths  of  all  the  skipper’s  parlor  in  my  presence;  and  1 take  con- 
siderable interest  in  both  what  Captain  Noreton  and  Captain  Skir- 
ley  may  say  on  this  subject.” 

Major  Griffith,  on  being  appealed  to,  promptly  responded. 

“ There  can  scarcely  be,”  he  said,  “ more  than  two  men  to  exam- 
ine, probably  only  one.  The  guard  reports  will  show  us  in  a min- 
ute which  of  the  two  soldiers  we  want  to  see.  I’ll  have  them  up 
to  my  quarters  quietly,  and  question  them  before  you.  Any  inter- 
rogatory you  think  proper  to  suggest  you  may  put  to  them,  or  if 
you  prefer  to  cross-examine  them  yourself,  pray  do  so.” 

“ No,  sir,”  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  ” 1 prefer  you  doing  it.  1 wish 
to  excite  as  little  attention  as  possible.” 

But  the  inspector  was  considerably  disappointed  in  the  result  of 


STRUCK  DOWN, 


67 


this  investigation.  There  was  no  trouble  about  ascertaining  tie 
two  men —the  one  who  had  actually  been  on  sentry  when  the  gate 
was  closed,  and  his  comrade,  who  had  preceded  him  in  that  duty — 
but  from  neither  of  them  could  any  information  be  extracted  likely 
to  throw  any  light  upon  the  mystery  of  Mr.  Clayford’s  death.  Yes, 
they  had  both  seen  several  women  of  all  sorts  pass  in  and  out  dur- 
ing their  term  of  sentry.  Many  they  knew  as  wives  of  their  com- 
rades; but  there  were  many  others;  some  ladies,  some  not,  appar- 
ently, of  whom  they  knew  nothing,  whom  they  had  never  seen  be- 
fore, and  could  not  be  at  all  certain  of  recognizing  again. 

“ Did  he  see  any  young  woman  pass  out  just  before  the  gates 
were  closed?”  the  sentinel  then  posted  on  the  gate  was  asked. 

“ Certainly,  he  did;  tour  or  five  young  women  passed  out  about 
that  time.  They  were  well  dressed  and  that  was  all  he  knew  about 
it.” 

“ Did  any  young  woman  pass  out  by  herself  on  that  occasion?” 

“ Yes,  two;  he  couldn’t  say  that  there  hadn’t  been  three;  couldn’t 
quite  recollect  about  that  circumstance;  had  been  on  guard  there 
many  times,  and  a lady  going  in  or  out  was  too  every-d^  an  affair 
to  attract  much  attention.  People  from  the  town  constantly  came 
for  a walk  round  the  ramparts.” 

” Well,”  said  Major  Griflath  when  the  two  soldiers  had  been  dis- 
missed, “lam  afraid,  Mr.  Pollock,  you  have  made  very  little  out 
of  this  inquiry?” 

“ No,  sir!”  rejoined  the  detective  frankly.  “ No;  1 haven’t  got 
hold  of  a man  yet  who  can  give  me  the  information  1 require,  bu^ 
he’s  in  the  barracks,  sir;  and  1 shall  light  on  him,  never  fear,  before 
the  week's  out.” 

“ No,  no,”  muttered  Mr.  Pollock  to  himself  as  he  walked  away 
from  the  major’s  quarters,  ‘ ‘ the  Senora  is  not  the  sort  of  young 
woman  men  forget  having  seen.  A girl  with  a walk  like  hers  would 
make  even  a sentry  look  round,  and  that  she  was  in  the  citadel  that 
evening  I’d  bet  my  life!” 

During  the  next  few  days  Mr.  Pollock  hung  a good  deal  about 
the  non-commissioned  ofiicers’  mess  in  the  citadel.  He  got  excess- 
ively friendly  with  Sergeant-  Blane,  and  was  rather  fond  of  talking 
over  the  circumstances  of  the  murder  with  him,  so  far  as  they  had 
transpired.  He  told  him  confidentially  that  the  police  supposed 
there  was  a female  at  the  bottom  of  it.  “ But  they  say  they  can’t 
make  anything  out  of  your  men  upon  the  gate.  They  seemed  to 
notice  so  little  who  goes  in  or  goes  out  until  such  time  as  the  gate  is 
closed.” 


68 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


“ Well/'  replied  the  sergeant,  “ you  can  hardly  expect  it.  There's 
people  passing  irom  gun-fire  to  tattoo,  and  unless  something  special 
attracts  his  attention,  the  sentry  on  the  gate  is  hardly  likely  to  notice 
them.  The  police  would  have  done  better  to  have  sought  information 
from  the  sentries  round  the  ramparts.  Y ou  see  there’s  not  so  much  to 
distract  their  attention,  and  they’re  more  likely  to  remark  anybody 
lounging  in  the  vicinity  of  their  posts.  People  pass  the  gate  quickly, 
but  about  the  ramparts  they  loiter,  gossip,  sit  down,  admire  the 
view,  etc.” 

Mr.  Pollock  was  not  mulish  in  his  disposition;  and  quick  to  take 
a hint,  Sergeant  Blane’s  suggestion  was  quite  enou  h for  him.  A 
very  few  minutes’  reflection,  and  he  exclaimed  to  himself,  ” What 
a dunderheaded  fool  I've  been!  The  sentry  at  the  back  of  the 
officers’  quarters  is,  of  course^  the  man  1 want.” 

The  inspector  determined  to  say  nothing  about  that  just  now.  He 
knew  it  would  be  easy  to  ascertain  who  the  men  were  who  had  oc- 
cupied that  post.  His  friend  Sergeant  Blane  could  settle  that  for 
him  in  a few  minutes.  The  next  thing  to  be  done  was  to  keep  care- 
ful watch  upon  the  Golden  Galleon,  to  mix  freely  in  the  skipper’s 
parlor,  and  await  what  might  turn  up. 

How  there  happened  at*this  time  a rather  singular  circumsjance; 
it  seems  absurd  to  say  that  the  committal  of  one  crime  could  possi- 
bly have  anything  to  do  with  the  detection  of  another  to  which  it 
bore  no  relation  'whatever;  that  the  very  actors  in  the  one  drama 
had  never  even  seen  the  actors  in  the  other;  but  life  generally  is  com- 
posed of  as  EG  any  wheels  as  a watch. 

J ust  now  took  place  a great  forgery  case,  and  the  skippers,  who, 
after  the  shipping  intelligence,  usually  devoted  themselves  to  the 
perusal  of  the  annals  of  crime  in  the  daily  papers,  got  considerably 
interested  in  this.  Like  all  great  forgery  cases,  there  was  of  course 
much  controversy  about  calligraphy,  whether  the  testators  will  had 
really  been  signed  by  himself,  or  whether  the  man  who  strove  to 
upset  it  had  written  that  and  one  or  two  other  documents  for  him. 
This  subject  seemed  to  interest  Mr.  Pollock  very  much.  He  pro- 
fessed considerable  disbelief  in  handwriting  being  imitated  so  closely 
that  those  thoroughly  conversant  with  it  would  not  at  once  detect 
the  deception.  He  was  always  jocularly  challenging  the  captains 
to  try  and  imitate  his,  or  let  him  imitate  theirs.  But  these  veteran 
sea-dogs  were  not  so  cunning  with  their  pens  as  to  deem  this  at  all 
an  interesting  amusement.  Writing  was  to  them  a somewhat  labor 
ious  exercise,  and  though  now  and  again  Mr,  Pollock  had  induced 
one  or  other  of  them  to  write  their  names  and  allow  him  to  do  his 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


69 


clumsy  best  to  imitate  them,  the  amusement  was  voted  stale  and  un- 
profitable. DaverSkirley,  tor  instance,  quite  declined  to  exhibit  his 
penmanship.  He  said  that  “he  was  no  scholar,  and  that  writing 
was  a deal  of  trouble  at  all  times,  and  was  quite  bad  enough  when 
you  were  obliged  to  do  it;  for  his  part,  when  he  was  taking  his 
spell  ashore,  he  did  not  want  to  be  bothered  with  pens  and  paper.’’ 

Mr.  Pollock  only  laughed  good-humoredly.  Still  he  was  always 
persistently  gettins  hold  of  a sheet  of  paper  and  writing  down  the 
names  of  everyone  in  the  room.  He  would  suy,  iokingly,  “ Now, 
Captain  Skirley,  1 never  saw  your  signature  in  my  life.  But  that’s 
the  sort  of  way  a man  like  you  would  sign  his  name.  Now  there 
you  are.  Captain  Noreton,  that’s  pretty  close  to  yours  anyhow;’’ 
and  old  Noreton  would  rejoin.  With  a grim  laugh,  “ 1 don’t  think 
that  at  the  foot  of  a note  would  ever  draw  old  Kit  Noreton’s  pay 
from  his  employers.  Tell  you  what  it  is,  my  man,  you’ll  never 
make  your  living  at  this  trade.’' 

“ No,”  rejoined  Mr.  Pollock,  “ 1 always  take  an  interest  in  these 
sort  of  things,  but  penal  servitude  seems  to  be  what  most  of  ’em 
make  out  of  it,  sooner  or  later.  As  for  their  living,  why  it  isn’t 
fifty  years  ago  since  many  of  them  came  to  their  death  by  it.  Still, 
gentlemen,  I’ve  heard  up  in  London  there  are  men  who  will  dash 
you  olf  a signature  after  three-days’  practice  that  would  deceive  the 
very  owner  of  that  signature  himself.  1 am  told  that  these  men 
positively  make  a precarious  living  out  of  it.  They  are  not  numer- 
ous; they  live  in  out-of-the-way  places  and  are  difficult  to  obtain 
access  to.  It  is  their  one  accomplishment,  and  they  don’t  make 
enough  at  the  game  to  keep  themselves  in  aflluence.  According  to 
my  information  they  simply  take  a certain  sum  down  to  forge  for 
other  people,  and  as  a rule,  don’t  even  know  what  the  signature 
they  imitate  is  wanted  for.” 

“ I suppose  they  would  find  themselves  among  the  breakers  if 
they  were  spotted,”  said  Captain  Noreton. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Mr.  Pollock.  “ I don’t  rightly  know  what  comes 
of  it  exactly,  but  you  can’t  carry  on  games  with  another  man’s  sig- 
nature without  paying  for  it.” 

Still  for  all  his  chafl  and  ingenious  utilizing  of  this  most  conven 
ient  forgery  case,  Mr.  Pollock  totally  failed  to  interest  the  skipper’s 
parlor  in  attempting  to  reproduce  each  other’s  handwriting. 

But  tne  inspector  was  indefatigable.  It  thtre  was  nothing  to  be 
made  out  of  the  Golden  Galleon,  still  there  might  be  something  to 
be  wrung  out  of  the  barracks.  He  did  not  apply  to  Major  Griffith 
upon  this  occasion;  he  quietly  went  to  his  friend  Sergeant  Blane 


70 


STETOK  DOWN. 


and  asked  him  to  let  him  have  a talk  ^ith  the  soldier  who  was  on 
sentry  at  the  back  of  the  officers’  quarters  at  the  time  the  two  fatal 
shots  were  fired. 

“ Not  much  difficulty  about  that/’  rejoined  the  sergeant.  “ You 
take  a strange  interest  in  this  murder;  and  lor  the  matter  of  that, 
there  isn’t  a man  in  the  citadel  that  doesn’t  want  to  see  the  assassin 
brought  to  justice.  It’s  youi  duty,  1 suppose,  to  collect  all  the  in- 
formation you  can,  and  you  shall  certainly  see  the  man  you  want  to, 
though  1 don’t  suppose  you’ll  make  much  out  of  him.  He  has  al- 
ready stated  that  he  heard  the  two  shots,  and  saw  no  suspicious  per- 
son about  the  quarters.” 

“ Now,  sergeant,  1 tell  you  what  it  is.  You’re  a good  sort,  and 
it’s  time  you  and  1 understood  each  other.  Now  look  here.  I am 
Inspector  Pollard,  of  Scotland  Yard,  sent  down  to  investigate  this 
very  murder.  You’re  a quiet,  sensible  man,  who  don’t  gabble. 
What  are  we  going  to  do?  I’ll  just  tell  you.  We’re  going  to  turn 
this  sentry  inside  out;  it’s  my  impression  he  is  keeping  back  some- 
thing 1 want  to  know,  simply  from  ignorance,  and  has  no  idea  that 
the  information  is  of  any  value.  Now,  sergeant,  we’ll  just  manage 
our  little  cross-examination  between  us.  When  1 ask  a question 
you  can  keep  on  pegging  away  till  you  see  clearly  I’ve  got  at  what 
wanted.  ’1  ain’t  very  much  and  won’t  take  us  a quarter  of  an  hour. 
If  Mrs,  Blane  wouldn’t  mind,  and  you  will  allow  me  to  send  for  a 
cool  tankard,  we  had  better  see  this  chap  at  your  quarters.” 

Private  8gmpson,  having  been  sent  for,  was  duly  questioned.  As 
Sergeant  Blane  had  predicted,  he  could  say  nothing  farther  in  con- 
nection with  the  murder  than  he  had  already  told;  but  now  that 
gallant  non-commissioned  officer  was  left  in  hopeless  bewilderment 
at  the  new  line  of  questioning  taken  up  by  the  inspector.  Had  Pri- 
vate Sampson  seen  a dark,  well-dressed,  good-looking  young 
woman  loitering  in  the  vicinity  of  his  post  any  lime  between  seven 
and  the  hour  the  gates  were  closed?  Yes,  decidedly  he  had;  he 
recollected  her  perfectly,  and  should  know  her  again  if  he  saw  her. 
She  was  walking  up  and  down  for  a good  quarter  of  an  hour  be- 
tween his  post  and  the  next  angle  of  the  ramparts.  At  the  end  of 
that  time  she  was  met  by  a young  man  in  sailor  costume.  They 
were  pretty  far  from  his  post  when  they  joined  each  other,  and  he 
couldn’t  say  what  occurred  between  them  at  all. 

“ Did  they  leave  the  citadel  together?”  asked  Mr.  Pollock. 

“ Nol”  replied  Sampson,  firmly,  “ of  that  1 am  quite  confident. 
The  lady  passed  me  by  herself  on  her  way  to  the  gate  a few  min* 
Hies  before  the  last  post  sounded.” 


STETOK  DOWI^. 


n 


“ And  her  sailor  friend?”  inquired  Mr.  Pollock,  interrogatively. 

“ 1 don’t  know,  sir;  1 don’t  know  what  became  of  him.  1 never 
saw  him  except  in  the  distance,  and  couldn’t  swear  to  him  if  you 
showed  him  to  me  to-morrow.” 

“ That’s  all  1 want  to  Rnow,  sergeant;  we  needn’t  detain  Samp- 
son any  longer,”  said  Mr.  Pollock  in  an  undertone,  and  thereupon 
the  little  conclave  broke  up. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SUBSCEIPTION  FOE  THE  DEFENSE. 

Captain  Fueness,  when  next  brought  before  the  magistrates, 
once  more  admits  his  presence  in  the  citadel,  but  declines  to  give 
any  reason  for  his  being  there.  In  short,  wnether  by  the  advice  of 
counsel  or  at  his  own  discretion,  the  sailor  quietly  but  firmly  re- 
fuses to  answer  all  questions  relating  to  that  fatal  evening. 

**  You.  are  charged,  remember,”  said  the  chairman  of  the  magis- 
trate’s bench,  “ with  a terrible  crime,  of  which  we  can  scarcely 
believe  you  to  be  guilty.  Surely  a little  explanation  on  your  part. 
Captain  Furness,  would  enable  us  at  all  events  to  remand  you  on 
bail.  As  it  is,  1 must  warn  you  that  fresh  evidence  is  about  to  be 
produced  against  you,  which,  without  some  such  explanation, 
will,  1 tear,  leave  us  no  alternative  but  to  once  more  consign  you 
to  custody.” 

No,  he  will  not  speak.  Jack  Furness  thanked  the  magistrates, 
but  simply  replied  that  he  had  nothing  to  say. 

Sergeant  Blood,  of  the  Plymouth  police  force,  to  whom  Mr.  Pol- 
lock, not  at  all  wishing  to  as  yet  take  a prominent  part  in  the  pro- 
ceedings, had  delegated  the  charge  of  the  case,  now  produced  the 
two  anonymous  letters  which  we  have  already  seen. 

“ These,  gentlemen,  we  consider  point  clearly  to  a strong  rivalry 
between  the  prisoner  and  the  deceased  for  the  affections  of  some 
young  woman,  whose  name  we  have  not  so  far  been  able  to  ascer- 
tain.” 

” 1 don’t  think  much  of  anonymous  letters,”  rejoined  Mr.  Eldon^ 
one  of  the  magistrates.  “It  is  the  sort  of  testimony  on  which  I 
wouldn’t  commit  a dog.” 

“We  believe,  sir,”  replied  Sergeant  Blood,  “ that  we  shall  before 
long  not  only  produce  the  writer  of  those  letters,  but  the  young 
woman  to  whom  they  refer.” 


72 


STRUCK  DOWK 


“In  consequence,  gentlemen,*'  interposed  the  counsel  for  the 
prosecution,  “ we  ask  for  a further  remand." 

“ 1 presume,"  rejoined  the  solicitor  for  the  defense,  “ that  as 
there  is  nothing  more  against  my  client  beyond  two  anonymous  let* 
ters,  and  the  fact  that,  like  several  hundred  other  people,  he  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  citadel  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  you  will  now 
release  him  on  bail." 

“Bail,  as  you  know,  is  raiely  allowed  in  the  case  of  such  crimes 
as  you  client  is  charged  with.  It  is,  I may  say,  entirely  at  his  own 
discretion,"  said  Mr.  Eldon,  sternly.  “If  Captain  Furness  will 
give  an  explanation  of  why  he  was  in  the  citadel  on  that  evening 
he  would  at  once  dissipate  the  most  suspicious  circumstance  in  hip 
case,  and  1 have  no  doubt  we  should  feel  able  to  release  him  on  bail. 
If  he  is  an  innocent  man,  why  should  he  hesitate  to  at  once  clear 
his  character?  If  a guilty  one,  he  can  not  be  too  reticent." 

“ Of  course,"  rejoined  the  prisoner's  solicitor,  “ the  decision  rests 
with  you,  gentlemen,  but  1 must  venture  to  again  point  out  that 
evidence  against  my  client  there  is  simply  none,  and  to  commit  him 
to  prison  on  a charge  of  this  nature  is  to  inflict  a stain  upon  his 
name  that  will  adhere  to  him  for  life." 

“We  will  take  that  responsibility  upon  ourselves,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Eldon,  “ and  though  to  some  extent  admitting  the  justice  of  what 
you  say,  simply  reply  that  his  release  on  bail  lies  in  Captain  Fur- 
ness's own  hands;  as  he  declines  to  speak,  we  have  no  choice  but  to 
recommit  him  till  this  day  week." 

“ Well,"  said  Mr.  Pollock,  as  he  walked  away  with  his  now  great 
chum,  Captain  Noreton,  “ these  country  magistrates  are  stunners. 
You  would  have  had  to  produce  a little  more  evidence  before  a 
metropolitan  beak  to  induce  him  to  still  keep  a man  like  Captain 
Furness  in  custody.  However,  the  police,  no  doubt,  have  got  some- 
thing behind,  and  no  doubt  have  given  the  Bench  a pretty  strong 
bint  of  it,  although  they  have  not  thought  fit  to  show  their  hand  as 
yet.  But  they  must  next  week;  to  go  on  remanding  such  a man  as 
Captain  Furness  on  such  evidence  as  that  is  preposterous. " 

“ No,"  replied  Captain  Noreton,  “ they  did  not  seem  to  think 
them  anonymous  letters  counted  for  much.  Of  course  they  don't. 
Nobody  but  a cowardly  lubber  writes  things  of  that  sort  he's  afraid 
to  put  his  name  to.  It’s  odd,"  he  continued,  “ about  the  girl. 
Why,  we  all  thought  thaf  Jack  Furness  was  sweet  upon  the  Sen- 
ora,  and  as  for  Mr.  Clayford,  why,  1 doubt  if  he  ever  saw  her." 

“Ah I there  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Pollock,  “you're  a straight-going 
man,  Captain  Noreton.  You  thoroughly  believe  in  Jack  Furness; 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


73 


you've  an  uiter  contempt  for  a man  who  don't  sign  his  name  to  his 
letter.  And  yet  there  it  is;  these  anonymous  letters  are  already 
afiecting  your  mind;  it’s  always  the  way,  sir.  Throw  the  dirt  in 
that  form,  and  some  of  it'll  stick.  Mr.  Eldon,  the  Chairman  of  the 
Bench,  bravely  denounced  Inem  to-day,  but  by  next  week  he’ll  have 
come  to  think  there's  something  in  them  after  all." 

" By  — ,"  but  let  the  tremendous  observation  of  Captain  Noie- 
ton  remain  unrecorded,  " you're  right,  sir.  1 was  on  the  point  of 
becoming  a white-livered  skunk  myself.  Split  my  stay-sail,  but 
every  man  in  the  parlor  shall  write  his  name  to-night.  They  can't 
make  any  mistake  about  the  handwriting,  and  it  ain't  the  least 
likely  that  any  one  of  our  lor  would  play  it  as  low  on  Jack  Furness 
as  that.  But  you  say  you  were  allowed  a sight  of  those  letters?" 

" Well,  by  chance  1 was.  1 know  one  of  the  officers  of  the  police 
force  here,  and  he  got  me  a glimpse  of  them." 

" Then  of  course  you  would  recognize  the  handwriting  if  you 
saw  it?" 

“ 1 don’t  quite  know  about  that.  1 should  know  if  it  was  any- 
thing like,  but  it  takes  a skilled  hand,  Captain  Koreton,  to  identify 
handwriting." 

“ By  heavens,  then,  I'll  try  it!"  said  the  captain,  suddenly  stop- 
ping in  his  walk.  " You’re  about  to  sheer  off  now  to  your  own  crib, 

1 reckon,  but  you  come  down  to  the  Golden  Galleon  to-night,  and 
you’ll  see  old  Kit  Noreton  will  have  the  names  of  every  one  in  the 
house  on  paper.  I 'm  not  going  to  have  this  sort  of  clou#  hangin'g 
over  the  place;  besides,  we  ought  to  do  more  for  a shipmate  in 
trouble  than  sit  grizzling  and  saying  how  sorry  we  are,  like  a pack  of 
old  women.  What  he  wants  is  help.  Well,  1 guess  the  best  help 
we  can  give  him  now  is  to  find  him  plenty  of  money  for  lawyers  and 
such-like.  When  you  get  into  awkward  navigation  amongst  the 
shoals  and  quicksands,  to  engage  a first-class  pilot  is  the  best  thing 
you  can  do,  to  my  thinking.  That's  always  a matter  of  money,  and 
these  lawyers,  they  tell  me,  like  a Channel  pilot,  don't  take  charge 
of  the  ship  except  for  a stiffish  figure.  D — me,  I start  a subscrip- 
tion list  for  Jack  Furness’s  defense  in  the  * parlor'  to-night,  and 
mind  you’re  there  to  put  your  fist  to  it." 

There  was  a very  full  meeting  in  the  parlor  that  evening.  The 
proceedings  of  the  police-court  were  in  every  man’s  mouth,  and  in 
no  place  in  all  the  city  were  they  more  earnestly  discussed  than  in 
that  " tobacco  parliament"  of  the  Golden  Galleon.  " It  was  a stain 
upon  the  profession,"  observed  one  orator.  " What!  accuse  pool 
Jack  Furness,  who  frequented  this  parlor  reg'lar,  of  the  murder? 


74 


STRLoK  DOWK. 


1 s’pose  they’ll  accuse  one  or  other  of  us  of  having  vTitten  those 
^nonymous  letters  next.  That  ’ud  he  a pretty  slur,  shipmates,  to 
be  cast  on  a steady  set  of  seafaring  men  such  as  frequent  this 
house.” 

In  the  meantime,  Captain  htoreton  was  observed  to  be  laboriously 
engaged  with  a pen,  ink,  and  paper,  at  the  side-table.  At  last  he 
seemed  satisfied  w ith  the  result  of  his  labors,  and  turning  round 
to  the  speakers  he  suddenly  broke  into  the  conversation. 

“ There  you  are,”  he  said,  “ all  cacklingvaway  like  so  many  rooks 
in  the  springtime.  Think  Jack  Furness  did  it!”  he  continued,  bring- 
ing his  brawny  hand  heavily  down  on  the  table.  “ Why,  we  know 
he  didn’t.  But  he’s  got  amongst  the  quicksands,  and  we’ve  got  to 
see  him  through  it.  Now  what  Jack  Furness  wants  is  a pilot. 
Well!  we  all  know  there’s  pilots  for  different  waters,  and  the  man 
who  takes  you  up  the  Hooghly  would  be  mighty  little  use  to  take 
aboard  at  Dungeness.  What  Jack  Furness  wants  is  a legal  pilot; 
and  what  I’ve  got  to  propose,  shipmates,  is  that  we  just  plank  down 
the  money  amongst  us  to  find  him  one.  Now  I’ve  drawn  out  a bit 
of  paper  here,  and  headed  the  list  myself,  p’raps  some  one  will  read 
it  out,”  and  apparently  exhausted  by  his  own  eloquence,  Captain 
Noreton  resumed  his  seat  amidst  a murmur  of  applause. 

The  paper  was  speedily  taken  up  by  one  of  the  skippers  nearest 
Captain  Noreton,  who  read  as  follows: 

“ This  subscription  list  is  for  the  purpose  of  defending  Captain 
John  Furness  from  the  shameful  charge  brought  against  him,  and 
all  his  friends  are  requested  to  sign  their  names  to  it,  and  give  as  much 
as  they  can  spare.”  Underneath  which  appeared  ‘‘Kit  Noreton, 
£5.” 

“ And  very  handsome,  too,”  said  the  reader;  ” 1 can’t  go  quite 
as  much  as  that.  1 never  had  a long  command  where  1 couldn’t 
spend  money,  like  Captain  Noreton.”  And  this  allusion  to  the  joke 
of  his  supposed  command  of  the  “Nore”  lightship  was  received 
with  a loud  guffaw  by  his  companions.  ” Still,  here  goes  my  con- 
tribution, such  as  it  is,  anyway.  And  now,”  continued  the  speaker, 
“ having  written  my  own  name.  I’ll  just  send  it  round.” 

It  was  about  this  period  that  Mr.  Pollock  made  his  appearance. 
He  saluted  the  company  generally,  and  Captain  Noreton  in  particu- 
lar, and  at  once  asked  what  might  be  the  subject  in  hand. 

“ 1 am  doing  what  1 told  you  1 would,  my  lad,”  rejoined  Captain 
Noreton  gruffly.  ” 1 am  getting  up  that  bit  of  a subscription  which 
1 spoke  to  you  about,  and  they’re  not  backward,”  and  here  the  cap- 
tain jerked  his  hand  compx^^^^^ively  round  the  parlor,  ” in  coming 


STRUCK  DOWN.  75 

forward.  I hope  as  you’re,  so  to  speak,  one  of  us,  you’ll  put  your 
name  to  it  for  a trifle  too.” 

” 1 shall  be  only  to  happy  too  contribute  my  mite,”  rejoined  Mr. 
Pollock,  “ if  I can  do  so  without  offense,  captain.  1 think  I’H  fig- 
ure at  the  bottom,  though,  please;  you  see  I’m  only  a kind  of  hon- 
orary member,  and  very  gcod  it  was  of  you  all  to  make  me  so.” 

“Very  good,  my  lad,”  replied  the  captain,  approvingly.  There 
was  a commendable  modesty  about  his  ‘protege's  remark  which  met 
his  approbation. 

The  paper  passed  rapidly  from  hand  to  hand,  till  ‘dt  last  it  came  to 
Dave  Skirley.  Mr.  Pollock  looked  somewhat  curiously  as  the  pa- 
per came  to  this  man,  chiefly  on  account  of  the  two  or  three  singu- 
lar remarks  he  had  previously  made  concerning  the  murder,  and 
also  because  he  thought  he  saw  some  disposition  on  Skirley ’s  part 
to  shirk  signing  it;  but  in  that  he  was  mistaken,  for  though  pretty 
well  the  last  to  attach  his  signature,  Skiiley  did  so  unhesitatingly. 
Finally,  Captain  Noreton  handed  the  subscription  list  over  to  Mr. 
Pollock,  and  the  inspector  had  the  opportunity  of  running  his  eye 
leisurely  down  it,  and  here  the  detective  was  slightly  disappointed. 
There  was  not  a signature  amongst  the  lot  that  was  at  all  suggestive 
that  the  owner  was  the  writer  of  the  anonymous  letters. 

No;  whoever  Jack  Furness’s  informant  had  been,  it  seemed  im- 
possible that  he  could  have  been  an  habitue  of  the  skipper’s  parlor. 
To  begin  upon,  they  were  all  skeptical  that  the  murdered  man  even 
knew  the  Senora.  ” They  all  seem,”  thought  Mr.  Pollock,  “to  be 
quite  unaware  that  she  ever  walked  upon  the  ramparts:  the  only  one 
1 suspect  to  have  any  inkling  of  it  is  Skirley,  from  what  he  said  one 
night  about  ‘ a man  may  rob  another  of  what  he  values  more  than 
property.’  1 thought  it  was  possible  that  he  had  knowled2:e  of  the 
rivalry  between  Mr.  Clayford  and  the  prisoner,  but  it  seems  not.  At 
all  events,  his  handwriting  goes  far  to  prove  that  he  was  not  the 
writer  of  those  anonymouus  letters.” 

The  pros  and  cons  of  the  murder  were  discussed  with  considera- 
ble animation.  One  thing  seemed  clear  to  the  assembly,  namely, 
that  Jack  Furness  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  death  of 
Mr.  Clayford,  and  now  that  they  had  put  down  the  necessary  funds 
for  the  defense,  that  would  be  proved  very  shortly. 

“You  are  very  silent  to-night,  mate,”  remarked  Captain  Nor? 
ton,  at  length. 

“Yes,”  replied  Mr.  Pollock;  “1  was  listening  to  the  conversa- 
tion. As  1 told  you,  a great  crime  always  has  a strange  fascination 


STRUCK  DOWK* 


W 

for  me.  By  the  way,  captain,  Was  Skirley  a great  friend  of  the  prii- 
oner’s?” 

**  No/'  replied  Captain  Noreton;  ‘‘  not  particular.  What  made 
you  ask  that  question?" 

“ Oh,  I don’t  know— something  he  said  the  other  night,"  and  the 
inspector  glanced  round  the  room  to  see  if  Skirley  was  within  ear- 
shot, and  then  discovered  that  he  was  no  longer  in  the  room. 

“ No,  my  lad^"  continued  Captain  Noreton,  “ Jack  Furness  and 
Dave  Skirley  were  certainly  not  to  be  called  chums— fairly  friendly, 
nothing  more." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MR.  POLLOCK  WINS  HIS  BET. 

The  Golden  Galleon  was  a quaintly  built  old-fashioned  house, 
Vou  entered  by  a low  door  to  what  might  more  properly  be  called 
a well-matted  passage  than  a hall.  On  the  left  was  the  bar.  with 
the  bar-parlor  behind  it.  On  the  right  was  a room  dedicated  to  the 
use  of  customers  of  a rather  lower  class  than  the  frequenters  of  the 
skipper’s  pailor,  but,  as  old  John  Black  said,  “ he  meant  to  have 
no  lifi-rah  about  his  place,"  and  this  room,  as  a rule,  was  clear 
about  ten  o’clock.  Though  they  at  times  sat  up  a little  later  in  the 
skipper’s  parlor,  still,  it  was  an  early  house,  and  its  inmates  gener- 
ally in  bed  by  eleven,  or  thereabouts.  Passing  the  bar-parlor,  you 
found  the  staircase  on  your  left,  the  door  to  the  kitchen,  etc.,  in  front 
of  you,  while  the  passage  turned  at  right  angles  opposite  the  stair- 
case to  the  right.  Now  you  had  a small  room  which  usually  went 
by  the  name  of  “ the  office,"  it  being  tacitly  regarded  as  the  busi- 
ness room  of  the  house.  Beyond  that  you  had  the  much  larger  room 
known  as  the  " skipper's  parlor,"  while  on  your  right  you  had  sim- 
p\y  the  back  wall  of  the- front  general  room,  which  was  the  biggest 
in  the  house.  Upstairs  were  merely  the  bedrooms  of  the  inmates 
and  guests.  As  for  sitting-rooms,  the  Golden  Galleon  didn’t  indulge 
in  such  things,  and  beyond  the  small  room  over  the  bar,  which  the 
Senora  claimed  as  her  own,  there  were  none. 

Mr.  Pollock  having  got  as  much  out  of  the  conversation  as  seemed 
likely,  and  he  was  tain  to  confess  that  it  did  not  amount  to  much, 
observed  that  it  was  getting  late,  and  that  he  must  be  off  to  bed, 
and  accordingly  left  the  room.  As  he  passed  the  door  of  the  gen- 
eral sitting-room,  which  he  knew  by  that  time  in  the  evening— for 
it  was  nearer  eleven  than  ten— was  usually  empty,  he  was  struck  by 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


77 


the  sound  of  voices  in  high  dispute.  It  might  not  be  a gentlemanly 
thing  to  listen  to  a private  conversation,  but  gentlemen  in  Mr.  Pol- 
lock's business  can  not  afford  to  be  ultra-particular.  He  stopped 
and  listened.  There  were  two  voices,  one  fierce  and  passionate,  evi- 
dently hurling  gibe  and  reproach  at  her  companion;  the  other  a 
man's,  deep,  stern  and  dogged.  The  inspector  recognized  them 
both — the  clear,  scornful  invective  of  the  Senora,  and  the  sullen 
gruff  tones  of  Dave  Skirley. 

“ Coward!"  cried  Marietta.  “ If  you  had  a spark  of  manhood 
in  you,  you  would  scorn  to  take  advantage  of  your  miserable  dis- 
covery." 

“ 1 have  missed  enough  chances  in  my  time.  Will  you  promise 
to  do  what  1 want?  Remember,  there's  nobody  but  me  can  save 
you.  And  that's  my  price  for  doing  so." 

" And  do  you  think  1 should  ever  do  anything  but  hate  you  if  l 
did  what  you  want  me  to?"  cried  the  girl  passionately. 

“ 1 will  chance  all  that.  Marietta;  it’s  the  one  thing  1 long  for  in 
this  world.  I'd  sacrifice  anything  in  life  to  obtain  it.  Chance  has 
put  this  power  into  my  hands,  and  by  heavens  I’ll  use  itl" 

" But  the  chances  are,  there  are  others  besides  you  saw  me  in  the 
citadel  that  night." 

" What  matter  if  they  did?  Nobody  but  me  knows  why  you 
were  there.  Nobody  holds  your  secret  but  myself." 

There  was  a pause  for  some  seconds,  then  the  Senora  exclaimed 
contemptuously.  " 1 did  not  know  that  such  as  you  were  allowed  to 
crawl  upon  the  face  of  the  earth!  Once  more” — she  continued 
vehemently — "never!  Do  your  worst." 

" YouTl  think  better  of  it  before  the  time  comes." 

" Again,  1 tell  you — never!"  cried  Marietta,  and  nothing  but  Mr, 
Pollock’s  quick  ear  enabled  him  to  disappear  through  the  entrance 
before  the  parlor  door  was  flung  open  and  the  Senora  swept  out. 

" Well,"  said  Mr.  Pollock,  as  he  walked  home  to  Chubb's, 
" I'm  blessed  if  I don't  think  she's  in  it.  She  don't  think  much  of 
that  fellow  Skirley,  and  1 expect  she's  reckoned  him  up  about  right, 
if  she  don’t  change  her  mind,  we’re  pretty  certain  to  know  all  about 
it;  but  then  that  last  is  a little  weakness  women  are  given  to." 
And  shaking  his  head  solemnly,  Mr.  Pollock  entered  his  hoteL 

The  inspector  was  up  early  the  next  morning,  and  as  he  sluiced 
his  face  with  cold  water  his  brain  was  busy  over  the  last  informa- 
tion he  had  acquired. 

" It’s  a curious  case,"  he  muttered.  " A passionate  girl  like  that 
is  quite  capable  of  shooting  her  lover  in  her  wrath  if  she  thought  he 


78 


STKUCK  DOWN. 


was  going  to  throw  her  over.  Now,  it's  clear  she  came  to  meet  Mr. 
Claytord,  and,  instead  ot  that,  she  found  her  old  sweetheart,  Jack  / 
Furness,  at  the  trj^sling-place.  He,  thanks  to  his  anonymous  corJ 
respondence,  seems  to  have  been  thoroughly  v^ell  posted  as  to  what/ 
had  been  going  on  in  his  absence;  and  a quarrel  ensued  betwee|l 
them,  no  doubt.  Now,  there’s  no  knowing  when  she  left  the  cita- 
del, or  how.  She  might  have  walked  toward  the  gate,  and  then 
crossing  the  square  have  taken  a turn  upon  the  ramparts  the  oti:^r 
side.  She  may  have  discovered  or  known  there  was  a large  party 
going  on  at  mess  that  night,  and  it  might  be  late  before  her  lover 
could  get  away.  Now,  Sergeant  Blane  told  me  it  wasn’t  very  diffi- 
cult for  an  active  man  to  get  out  of  the  citadel  at  one  particular 
angle  if  he  could  only  escape  the  vigilance  of  the  sentry.  ’J’he  diffi- 
culty lay  in  getting  back  again.  It  is  quite  on  the  cards  that  feat 
is  possible  for  an  active  young  woman.  Now,  nobody  seems  to 
know  how  the  prisoner  Furness  got  out  of  the  citadel  either.  No- 
body can  recollect  his  passing  out;  and  the  sentry  who  saw  the  pair 
meet  says  that  Furness  walked  away  in  the  opposite  direction  from 
the  Senora. 

“ Next,  there  is  Mr.  Dave  Skirley.  1 can’t  make  out  that  he  was 
even  in  the  citadel  that  evening;  but  he  somehow  has  a perfect 
knowledge  of  all  that  took  place  there;  and  it’s  my  firm  belief  could 
give  evidence  which  would  clear  or  convict  either  Furness  or  the 
Senora.  From  what  she  said  last  night  it  strikes  me  that  he’s  in 
love  with  her  too.  Now,  it  he  had  turned  out  to  be  the  writer  of 
those  anonymous  letters  1 should  have  understood  it  all.  By  mak- 
ing Furness  and  Mr.  Clayford  meet,  he  w as  sure  to  get  rid  of  one 
of  his  rivals,  and  very  likely  embroil  the  Senora  with  the  other.  It 
isn’t  likely  that  he  contemplated  that  murder  would  come  of  it;  but 
then  the  letters  are  not  the  least  like  his  handwriting.  No,  I’ll  first 
up  and  see  Sergeant  Blane  and  go  over  this  contraband  outlet  of  the 
citadel  with  him.” 

Mr.  Pollock  was  a man  of  decision,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  fin- 
ished his  breakfast  made  his  way  up  to  the  citadel  and  sought  out 
his  friend  the  sergeant.  That  worthy,  on  hea  ring  his  errand,  will- 
ingly volunteered  to  show  him  the  spot,  and  they  crossed  toward 
the  south-west  angle  of  the  fortress  for  that  purpose. 

” Here  it  is;  you  see  the  natural  scarp  is  not  so  great  here  as  it  is 
on  the  side  overlooking  the  town.  The  ditch  is  a trifle  shallower,  and 
the  counterscarp  not  quite  so  steep  as  in  other  places.  The  revet- 
ment is  rather  broken,  and  the  bank  has  somewhat  given  way. 
Now,  it’s  not  very  difficult  to  get  down  into  the  ditch,  nor  would 


STRUCK  DOWN.  79 

an  active  man  have  much  trouble  in  getting  up  that  broken  part  op- 
posite/* 

“ And  there*s  no  other  way  out  oi  the  ditch  except  that?’* 

Well,  yes,  there  is.  There’s  the  sallypoit;  but  that’s  only  open 
from  gun-fire  to  retreat.  And  none  but  oflacers  and  soldiers  on  duty 
aie  allowed  to  use  it.” 

“Ah!”  said  Mr.  Pollock.  “Then  nobody  could  have  left  the 
citadel  that  way?” 

“ Certainly  not;  there’s  always  a sentry  on  it,  and  it  would  be 
closed  altogether  till  gun-fire  the  next  morning.” 

“ Now,  look  here,  sergeant,”  said  Mi.  Pollock;  “ I’m  pretty  good 
for  an  old  ’un,  and  tfiough  1 don’t  look  like  an  athlete,  I’m  pretty 
wiry,  and  1 don’t  minding  holding  you  half-a*crown  I go  down  into 
that  ditch  and  up  the  other  side.” 

“ Nonsense!”  replied  the  sergeant,  laughing.  “ 1 don’t  mean  to 
say  you  could  not  do  it;  but  you  may  easy  sprain  an  ankle  or  break 
a leg  over  it,  and  what’s  the  good  of  running  that  risk?” 

“ Never  mind,”  rejoined  Mr.  Pollock;  “ it’s  a bet.  I’ve  a fancy 
to  try.  Look  here,”  he  continued,  with  a light  laugh,  “ if  1 come 
to  any  grief  you'll  send  a stretcher  and  a couple  of  men  for  me,  won’t 
you?  or  came  and  pass  me  through  the  postern  gate  if  1 can’t  get 
up  the  other  side?” 

Another  moment,  and  Mr.  Pollock  had  jumped  lightly  on  the  top 
of  the  parapet  and  commenced  his  descent  into  the  ditch. 

The  first  part  of  his  task  the  inspector  found  easy  enough,  but 
the  latter  part  presented  more  difficulty  {Still,  at  the  expiration  of 
three  or  four  minutes  he  stood  triumphant  in  the  ditch  of  the  cita- 
del. He  paused  for  a little  to  recover  himself,  and  then,  crossing 
over,  commenced  the  ascent  the  other  side,  where  the  revetment  was 
somewhat  broken.  It  was  a toughish  bit  of  work,  and  more  than 
once  Mr.  Pollock  tvas  within  an  ace  of  losing  his  foothold  and 
tumbling  ignominiously  back  into  the  ditch;  but  he  was  clean  grit» 
and  knew  well  that  any  loss  of  presence  of  mind  would  mean  an 
ugly  fall.  He  stuck  gamely  to  his  task,  and  eventually  succeeded 
in  gaining  the  top  of  the  glacis.  Then  he  turned  round,  took  off 
his  hat  with  mock  courtesy  to  his  friend  the  sergeant,  shouted  out, 
“’What  about  that  half-crown?”  and  proceeded  to  leisurely  walk 
down  the  slope. 

“ Ah!”  muttered  Mr.  Pollock,  as  he  wended  his  way  toward  the 
police-office  to  ascertain  what  further  information  .might  have  been 
received  there.  “ Very  evident  that  if  he  only  succeeded  in  evad. 
ing  the  sentry,  an  active  young  man  would  have  very  little  difficulty 


80 


STRUCK  DOW]^-. 


in  getting  out  of  the  fortress  that  way.  But  a young  woman!  No  I 
1 don’t  think  so.  AlJ  1 can  say  is  that,  barring  she  came  out  of  an 
acrobat  troupe,  1 think  R’s  beyond  her.” 

Mr.  Pollock  found  the  Plymouth  police  at  a deadlock.  They 
could  make  nothing  but  of  the  anonymous  letters,  nor  could  they 
even  venture  a guess  as  to  who  the  girl  apparently  mixed  up  in  the 
case  was.  On  that  point  the  detective  knew  he  could  enlighteiV 
them  if -he  chose.  But  the  anonymous  letters?  Yes;  it  was  very 
important  to  discover  the  writer  of  these.  | 

The  chief  of  the  Plymouth  police  was  not  a little  disturbed,  bei 
cause  information  had  arrived  by  that  morning’s  post  that  the  — tli 
regiment  was  to  embark  for  active  service  next  week. 

“ You  see  what  it  is,  Mr.  Pollock;  here  is  the  most  critical  period 
of  the  case,  and  it  looks  as  if  we  were  to  lose  the  best  part  of  our 
witnesses.  1 don’t  know  what  to  do.  I’ve  been  up  to  see  Major 
Griflath  this  morning,  and  he’s  told  me  that  it  is  perfectly  true,  that 
unless  there  are  orders  to  the  contrary,  Mr.  Leader  and  all  the  other 
witnesses  will  have  to  embark  as  a matter  of  course;  but  that  the 
colonel  will  be  down  to-night  from  town,  and  will  have  been  cer- 
tain to  have  seen  the  authorities  before  he  left,  and  may  very  likely 
bring  orders  in  his  pocKet  that  the  witnesses  in  the  murder  case  arc 
to  be  left  behind.  What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Pollock?” 

“ Think!”  replied  the  detective,  quietly,  ” that  Government  will 
be  putting  a premium  on  retail  murder  in  their  anxiety  to  push  the 
wholesale  article  if  they  don’t  do  so!  1 shall  telegraph  to  Scotland 
Yard  at  once,  to  say  one  of  the  prettiest  cases  I ever  had,  and  which 
is  piecing  itself  together  beautifully,  will  go  all  to  bits  if  those  wit- 
nesses are  spnt  out  of  England  for  a few  weeks.  Our  chief  will  no 
doubt  communicate  with  the  Home  Office,  and  i think  you’ll  find 
they  will  be  detained.” 

” You’ve  discovered  something  more  then,  Mr.  Pollock?” 

“ A good  deal  more,”  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  dryly.  ” The  depth 
and  breadth  of  the  ditch  of  the  citadel.” 

“What  on  earth  has  that  got  to  do  with  it?”  inquired  the  chief 
of  the  Plymouth  police,  petulantly. 

“ A good  deal,  as  you  will  shortly  see,”  rejoined  Mr.  Pollock,  as 
he  left  the  office. 


STRUCK  UOWJS'. 


81 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

“don’t  forget  I WAS  FIRST.” 

Major  Griffith  was  right  in  his  conjecture.  When  Colonel 
Holmewood  arrived  to  resume  the  command  of  his  regiment,  he 
brought  the  order  for  the  detention  of  Lieutenant  Leader,  Sergeant 
lilane,  Private  Simmons,  etc,,  in  short,  all  the  witnesses  connected 
with  the  murder,  in  his  pocket.  Major  Griflath  had,  of  course,  kept 
him  well  informed  of  all  the  particulars  of  the  case,  as  also  had  the 
papers.  The  colonel  expressed  the  most  unfeigned  sorrow  at  a loss 
of  one  of  his  most  promising  young  officers,  and  deeply  regretted 
that  the  business  upon  which  he  was  engaged  had  prevented  his 
getting  back  to  attend  the  funeral. 

“ Have  the  police  made  anything  of  it  as  yet,  Griffith?  1 most 
sincerely  trust  they  will  catch  the  scoundrel.  Thank  Heaven  I it 
doesn’t  appear  to  have  been  one  of  our  own  men.  1 own  at  first  that 
1 was  terribly  afraid  it  was.” 

“ No,  the  local  police  don’t  seem  to  be  able  to  make  much  of  it, 
but  there’s  a fellow  here  from  Scotland  Yard,  who  keeps  himself 
very  much  in  the  background,  and  he  tells  me  that  he  thinks  he 
shall  put  his  finger  on  the  murderer  before  long.  Further  than  that 
he  declines  to  speak ; he  is  an  uncommon  reticent  man,  and  has  even 
begged  me  to  keep  his  presence  here  a secret;  1 naturally  mention  it 
to  you.  He  is  a good  deal  about  the  barracks,  but  1 fancy  there 
are  not  half  a dozen  men  in  the  citadel  who  know  what  his  voca- 
tion is.  The  only  other  information  he  has  ever  condescended  to 
give  me  was  about  those  letters.  * Dangerous  things,  sir,’  he  said, 

‘ anonymous  letters.  They  generally  come  home  to  roost.  Their 
WTiter  makes  no  greater  mistake  than  thinking  he  will  be  anony- 
mous long  if  their  recipient  sets  to  work  to  discover  him.’  ” 

When  Mr.  Pollock  went  in  to  lunch  at  Chubb’s  the  next  day  he 
seated  himself  at  the  next  table  to  Mr.  Crinkle,  as  he  now  often  did. 

“ Smart  this,  very,”  chuckled  this  gentleman,  putting  his  hand 
on  the  local  paper,  for  since  the  murder  Mr.  Crinkle  had  taken  to 
read  the  papers.  “ Your  idea,  of  course.” 

“ Let  me  see  how  they’ve  done  it.”  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  for  the  paper.  “ Very  fairly,  indeed,”  he  contik 
ued.  “ 1 think  that  will  produce  the  information  1 require  before 
two  or  three  days  are  over  our  heads.”  And  the  inspector  glanced 


82 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


with  a satisfied  smile  at  a fac  simile  ot  the  anonymous  letters,  with 
an  intimation  that  £25  reward  would  be  given  to  anybody  who 
could  identify  the  handwiitina:.  “ There,”  he  said,  “ that's  in  all 
the  local  journals,  and  if  there  isn't  somebody  comes  forward  to 
identify  that  scribble  it  can’t  have  been  written  in  Plymouth,  that’s 
all.” 

**  It’s  a clever  stroke,”  remarked  Mr.  .CrinKle,  “ and  nobody  ever 
wrote  a decent  hand  but  several  people  could  speak  to  it.  1 don’t 
want  to  be  inquisitive,  but  1 can  keep  my  mouth  shut,  and  1 shall 
be  just  curious  to  know  if  you’re  called  on  to  pay  that  £25.  1 don’t 
want  to  ask  more.” 

” Mr.  Crinkle,  sir,  you’re  a man  to  be  trusted,  no  one  more  so; 
but  1 can’t  break  through  my  rule  in  conducting  a case  of  this  sort, 
which  is  to  tell  nobody  a bit  more  than  I’m  obliged  to.  Don’t  you 
see,  sir,  if  it  leaks  out  that  we’ve  got  at  the  writer  of  those  letters, 
if  the  fellow  happens  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  murder,  he’ll  bolt  be- 
fore we  can  lay  our  hands  upon  him,  and  Plymouth’s  a terrible  easy 
port  to  get  away  from ! Even  that  advertisement  may  scare  him, 
and  the  only  reason  1 dared  put  it  in  was  because  1 don’t  think  he’s 
the  actual  criminal,  and  that,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  he  intended  to 
produce  mischief,  but  not  murder.” 

Mr.  Pollock  was  very  soon  proved  right  in  his  conjecture.  Before 
forty-eight  hours  were  over  an  old  man  presented  himself  at  the 
police  oflSce,  clothed  in  a rusty  suit  of  black,  wearing  a tall  hat, 
and  a pair  of  tortoise  shell  spectacles  on  his  withered  old  nose. 

“ Now,  then,  what  do  you  want?”  inquired  the  police-officer, 
who  was  lounging  at  the  door  of  the  station. 

“ What  do  1 want?”  replied  the  old  gentleman,  testily;  “ why, 
I’ve  just  come  to  have  a word  with  the  head  of  the  establishment.” 

” V'erygood;  what’s  your  business?” 

“Not  to  answer  idle  questions  put  by  people  1 don’t  want  to 
talk  to.” 

The  officer  bit  his  lip;  he  would  have  liked  uncommonly  to  take 
the  testy  old  gentleman  into  custody,  but  he  had  no  pretext  for  doing 
so;  and  while  such  an  investigation  as  they  were  pursuing  was 
going  on  he  knew  that  his  chief  would  see  any  one  on  the  chance 
that  they  had  something  to  tell  bearing  on  the  murder. 

“ Well,  you  can’t  be  called  a polite  old  party  to  talk  to;  1 only 
hope  the  chief  may  find  you  more  agreeable  than  1 have.” 

“ 1 didn’t  come  out  to  make  myself  agreeable;  1 never  do.  I’ve 
come  to  see  your  guv 'nor  on  a little  matter  of  business,  and  the 
sooner  you  show  me  up,  the  less  of  my  lime  you’ll  be  wasting.” 


STRUCK  BOWK. 


83 


**  One  moment,  old  gentleman/”  and  the  officer  disappeared  into 
a small  room  on  the  right.  “ Here,  one  of  you,”  he  exclaimed,  as 
he  entered  it,  to  the  two  or  three  constables  who.  were  seated  there, 
” run  across  to  Chubb’s  Hotel  and  tell  Mr.  Pollock  he’s  wanted  as 
quickly  as  possible.  And  now,  sir,”  he  said,  as  he  issued  on  the 
gate- way  again,  ” if  you  will  follow >me,  1 will  show  you  into  the 
chief’s  office.” 

The  old  gentleman  was  accordingly  ushered  into  the  office  of  the 
chief  of  the  Plymouth  police,  who  was  seated  at  a large  table  in 
one  coiner  of  the  room,  while  a couple  of  constables  \^ere  busy 
writing  at  a long  desk  on  the  other  side.  Several  maps  decorated 
the  walls,  and  notices  about  all  manner  of  things,  which,  with  some 
half  dozen  Windsor  chairs,  completed  the  furniture  of  the  apart- 
ment. 

“ What  is  it?”  inquired  the  chief,  briefly. 

” 1 have  come  about  this  here,”  replied  the  old  gentleman,  as  he 
drew  a newspaper  from  his  pocket. 

” Oh!  you  think  you  can  identify  that  handwriting,”  said  the 
chief. 

” Maybe  1 can,  and  maybe  1 can’t.  You’re  coming  to  that  all  too 
quick,  mister.” 

” What’s  your  name,  and  what’s  your  calling?”  inquired  the 
chief,  curtly. 

” My  name’s  Flitch;  and  1 keep  a small  stationer’s  shop  in  the 
Barbican.” 

” Very  good,  Mr.  Flitch;  now  what  have  you  come  here  for?” 

” Well,  look  here,  sir;  is  this  all  fair  and  square?  Does  this  ad- 
vertisement mean  what  it  says?  That  you  will  give  tweniy-five 
pounds  to  any  one  who  can  tell  whose  handwriting  that  is?” 

At  this  juncture  Mr.  Pollock  entered  the  room,  and  dropped  noise- 
lessly into  a chair  behind  Flitch. 

” Would  1 be  likely  to  get  any  one  in1:o  a scrape  by  telling  who  it 
is?”  continued  the  old  gentleman. 

” All  I that  1 can’t  say,”  replied  the  inspector. 

“Twenty-five  pound  is  a deal  of  money,”  rejoined  Mr.  Flitch, 

but  1 don’t  like  to  get  the  young  rascal  into  trouble.” 

“ About  that  i can’t  advise  you.  1 can  only  tell  you,  that  provid- 
ing he  was  not  an  accessory  to  the  crime,  you  will  do  him  no  harm.’* 

“ And  allow  me  to  point  out,”  suddenly  remarked  Mr.  Pollock, 
blandly,  “that  you’ve  acknowledged  you’ve  recognized  the  hand- 
widting,  under  which  circumstances  we  shall  at  once  subpoena  you 
and  put  you  in  the  witness-box  when  the  trial  comes  on.  You  will 


84 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


then  have  to  answer  the  questions  put  to  you,  or  probably  be  coni' 
mitted  for  contempt  of  court.*' 

Mr.  Pollock  had  pounced,  but  this  time  unsuccessfully. 

“Ah!**  replied  Mr.  Flitch,  “1  am  an  old  man,  my  sight's  not 
very  good,  and  it's  very  likely  I’m  mistaken." 

The  inspector  bit  bis  lip.  pe  was  much  vexed  to  have  so  com- 
muted himself  before  his  provincial  brethren. 

" As  you  like,  Mr.  Flitch;  as  you  said  just  now,  twenty  five 
pound  is  a deal  of  money,  and  you  may  be  quite  sure  that  you're 
not  the  only  person  in  Plymouth  can  swear  to  that  handwriting." 

That’s  true,"  said  the  old  man  with  a start,  “ and  1 might  as 
well  have  the  money  as  another.  1 want  it  bad  enough,  goodness 
knows.  Well,  gentlercen,  1 believe  my  boy  wrote  those  letters." 

“ What,  your  son?"  explained  Mrc  Pollock,  not  quite  prepared  for 
such  exceeding  cynicism. 

" No,  no,"  rejoined  Mr.  Flitch,  '*  he's  my  lad — he's  my  'prentice. 
He  sometimes  keeps  the  books,  and  1 know  his  writing  well.  And 
that  is  about  as  like  his  fist  as  you  can  go  to  it." 

•*  Just  show  him  the  original  letters,"  said  Mr.  PollocR,  and  these 
being  carefully  examined  by  Mr.  Flitch,  lie  expressed  no  doubt 
about  their  being  in  his  boy’s  handwriting. 

" Now,  Mr.  Flitch,  1 think  we’ve  done  with  you  for  the  present, 
we  know  where  to  find  you,  and  will  send  for  you  when  we  want 
you." 

The  old  gentleman  took  up.his  hat,  and  as  he  reached  the  door  a 
thought  struck  him,  he  came  half  way  back  into  the  room,  and 
said,  with  some  little  anxiety  in  his  voice,  " 1 say,  mister,  you  won’t 
forget  that  1 was  the  first,  will  you,  now?" 

" Certainly  not;  you  can  go,"  replied  the  chief  of  the  Plymouth 
police,  and  satisfied  with  this  assurance,  Mr.  Flitch  took  his  depart- 
ure. 

If  there  was  one  knot  of  men  who  felt  fiercely  vindictive  against 
the  assassin,  and  thirsted  to  see  him  brought  to  justice,  it  was  Tom 
Leader  and  the  witnesses  left  behind  under  his  charge.  Leader  had 
lost  a very  dear  friend^  while  the  men  weie  inspired  by  that  fine  old 
spirit  of  clanship  characteristic  of  the  British  soldier,  who,  grumble 
though  he  may  sometimes  at  his  officers,  fiercely  resents  any  attack 
upon  them.  Then,  again,  they  were  all  disappointed  at  not  saillug 
for  the  war  with  their  more  fortunate  comrades.  It  meant  hard 
knocks  and  scant  rations,  they  knew  well,  but  every  soldier  Imows 
how  mean  one  feels,  kicking  one’s  heels  about  a garrison  town, 
when  the  news  comes  home  that  their  comrades  are  in  the  thick  of 


STKUCK  DOWN*. 


85 


the  fight.  The  gallant  — th  had  embarked.  Mr.  Leader  had  sadly 
shaken  hands  with  his  brother  officers,  and  in  spite  of  their  assur- 
ances of  “ Poor  old  fellow,  you’ll  be  after  us  by  the  next  mail,” 
had  refused  to  be  comforted..  He  had  come  ashore  in  the  tender,  and 
was  wending  his  way  slowly  up  Union  street  on  his  road  to  the 
citadel,  when  he  was  overtaken  by  Mr.  Pollock. 

Sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Leader,”  said  the  inspector,  as  he  touched 
his  hat.  “ 1 know  a gentleman  like  you  don’t  like  his  regiment  to 
sail  for  service  without  him,  but  the  detection  of  crime  is  a para- 
mount duty  to  all  of  us,  ” 

“ Well,  1 don’t  know  about  that,  Mr.  Pollock, ’’^replied  Tom 
“ It’s  your  profession.” 

‘‘And  you.”  said  Mr.  Pollock,  somewhat  impressively,  ‘‘have 
got  the  murderer  of  your  friend  to  bring  to  justice.” 

“It’s  what  I am  staying  for,”  rejoined  Leader,  savagely.  “ Do 
you  suppose  that  you’ll  succeed  in  discovering  him?” 

“ I think,  Mr.  Leader,  that  1 am  getting  very  hear  it.  A few  days 
more,  and  I think  1 shall  be  ble  to  form  a pretty  good  guess  at  the 
criminal.  I’ll  own  just  now  that  1 am  puzzled  between  two.  ©ood- 
morning,  sir! — Upon  my  word,”  he  muttered  to  himself,  “ I’m 
half  inclined  to  think  the  girl  did  it.  She  would  probably  know 
where  Olayford’s  quarters  were  situated.  Now,  it’s  not  likely  that 
Furness  would  know  that,  still,  of  course,  he  might  inquire;  and 
how  either  of  them  got  out  of  the  citadel,  there’s  no  evidence  to 
show.  As  for  Furaess,  he  would  have  no  difficulty  in  making  his 
way  out  in  the  same  manner  as  1 did  the  other  morning;  and  as  for 
the  Senora,  if  she  went  out  unnoticed  before  the  gate  closed, 
she  was,  of  coarse,  not  in  the  citadel  at  the  time  of  the  murder. 
Ah!  the  letters  will  throw  a bit  of  light  upon  it,  I’ll  bet.” 

But  there  was  a surprise  in  store  for  Mr.  Pollock,  of  which  he  lit- 
tle dreamed.  He  strolled  down  to  the  Golden  Gallepn  in  the  course 
of  the  afternoon.  And  upon  entering  the  skipper’s  parlor  found  it 
tenanted  solely  by  Captain  Noreton. 

“Well,  my  lad,”  said  that  worthy,  “have  you  heard  the  news? 
Smother  me!  if  ever  1 heard  such  a go  in  my  life.  Why,  I’ve 
used  this  house  since  she  was  a child,  and  except  to  go  back  to 
school,  who  ever  heard  of  the  Senora  leaving  it?  Since  she’s  done 
with  schooling,  why,  she’s  never  gone  away,  except  for  a day’s  out- 
ing; and  here,  her  father  tells  me  she’s  gone  to  London.  What’s  to 
become  of  us  all  without  her?  John  Black  is  a very  good  man, 
but  it  takes  a woman’s  hand  at  the  helm  to  manage  a craft  like  this. 


86 


STEUCK  DOWK. 


If  the  Senora  is  away  long,  mark  me!  things  will  go  to  sixes  and 
sevens,  and  it  will  be  all  up  with  the  Golden  Galleon.’’ 

“ Where  has  the  Senora  gone  to  in  London?”  asked  the  inspector 
quickly,  as  soon  as  Captain  Noreton  came  to  the  end  of  his  wander- 
ing speech. 

” I don’t  know,”  replied  the  captain.  ” Her  father  don’t  know; 
she  said  she  didn’t  know  herself,  but  she’d  wiite  as  soon  as  she  was 
settled.” 

” "W  hat’s  she  gone  for?”  inquired  Mr.  Pollock. 

“ She  told  her  father  she  was  tired  of  Plymouth,  and  wanted  a 
change,  and  he  must  contrive  to  do  without  her  for  a little.” 

” If  she  didn’t  do  it,  she’s  evidently  mixed  up  in  it  somehow,  and 
wants  to  keep  out  of  the  way  till  the  trial  is  over,”  muttered  Mr. 
Pollock;  ” she  knows  nothing  of  London,  and  is  far  too  striking  a 
girl  to  escape  notice;  but  it  may  be  a troublesome  business  for  all 
that.  Any  way,  1 must  wire  her  description,  etc.,  to  Scotland  Yard 
at  once;”  and  with  this  reflection,  Mr.  Pollock  bustled  out  of  the 
house. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

COMMITTED  FOR  TRIAL. 

Mr.  Pollock  lost  but  little  time  in  following  Mr.  Flitch  to  his 
shop  in  the  Barbican;  in  fact,  he  would  probably  have  reached  it  as 
soon  as  the  old  gentleman  himself,  but  for  one  thing.  He  remained 
behind  to  exchange  a few  words  with  the  chief  of  the  Plymouth 
police;  and  when  became  out,  Mr.  Flitch  had  disappeared.  Con- 
sequently, on  arriving  at  the  Barbican,  Mr.  Pollock  had  to  make  in- 
quiries as  to  where  the  old  gentleman’s  shop  was  situated.  Now, 
it  was  by  no  means  a large  and  well-known  stationer’s;  and,  there- 
fore, he  had  to  ask  his  way  more  than  once  before  he  arrived  at  the 
humble  little  shop  over  which  Mi.  Flitch  presided.  It  could  hardly 
be  called  a stationer’s.  Its  principal  business  was  evidently  the  sale 
of  papers  of  all  descriptions.  You  would  certainly  have  found 
none  of  the  society  journals  on  his  counter.  There  was  a fairish 
stock  of  the  daily  papers,  and  all  the  local.  The  remainder  of  his 
wares  seemed  to  consist  of  a small  lot  of  second-hand  novels,  and  a 
few  quires  of  note-paper,  with  envelopes  to  match. 

Mr.  Pollock  walked  briskly  into  the  shop,  and  seeing  the  old  gen- 
tleman behind  the  counter,  said,  ” Now,  Mr.  Flitch,  we’ll  proceed 
to  business  at  once,  if  you  please.  Where’s  this  boy  of  yours?” 

“Well,  he’s  out  just  now,”  replied  the  shopkeeper.  “That’s 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


8? 


the  worst  of  boys,  you  can’t  trust  ’em;  now,  Bob  isn’t  a very  bad 
hoy,  but  the  moment  1 am  out  he  just  gets  the  girl  at  the  chandler’s 
shop  opposite  to  keep  an  eye  on  my  premises,  and  hooks  it.  Young 
varmint  I what  do  you  think  he  had  the  cheek  to  tell  me  last  time^ 
that  she  could  manage  it  perfectly  well?  she’d  only  got  to  ask  a penny 
for  anything  that  was  asked  for.  And,”  said  the  old  gentleman 
with  a sigh,  *‘he’s  about  right;  that’s  the  price  of  most  of  my 
goods.  You  see,  sir,  there  ain’t  much  profit  to  be  got  out  of 
penn’orths.” 

” Well,  there’s  profit  lor  you  to  be  got  out  of  this  business,”  said 
Mr.  Pollock.  “ While  we’re  wailing  for  him,  just  let  me  see  some 
of  his  handwriting.” 

Mr.  Flitch  speedily  produced  his  books.  The  inspector,  taking 
the  anonymous  letters  from  his  breast-pocket,  carefully  compared 
them  with  the  writing  therein. 

“ Yes,  Mr.  Flitch,”  he  observed,  at  length,  ” 1 should  say  there 
is  no  doubt  that  your  boy  wrote  these  letters.  The  curious  question 
is,  why  he  wrote  ’em.  With  your  permission  I’ll  sit  down  and 
wait  till  he  comes  in.” 

He  hadn’t  long  to  wait  A few  minutes  more,  and  a red-haired, 
freckled-faced,  blue-eyed  boy  came  whistling  into  the  shop.  He 
stared  with  no  little  astonishment  at  the  stranger,  and  cast  a half- 
apprehensive  glance  at  his  master,  who  called  him  a ” varmint,” 
and  shook  his  fist  at  him. 

” Now,  Bob,  my  friend,  I’ve  got  a question  or  two  to  put  to  you. 
I’m  a detective-oflacer,  come  down  from  London  to  investigate  this 
murder  that  has  taken  place  in  the  citadel.  You’ve  read  all  about 
the  murder,  of  course  you  have,  and  you’ve  heard  all  about  these 
anonymous  letters.  Now,  why  did  you  write  ’em?  Stop,  don’t 
admit  you  did  write  them  unless  you  like,  though  1 know  perfectly 
well  you  did.” 

Bob’s  face  was  a study.  He  had  turned  almost  green  from  fright. 
There  was  no  whistle  on  his  lips  now.  The  idea  of  falling  into  the 
hands  of  the  police  had  undefined  terrors  for  him. 

” Please,  sir,”  he  blubbered  out  at  last,  with  no  thought  of  de- 
nial, ” 1 didn’t  know  there  was  any  harm.” 

” But  what  made  you  do  it?”  asked  Mr.  Pollock. 

” Please,  sir,  he  asked  me  to  do  it,  and  he  gave  me  two  bob  to 
write  down  what  he  told  me.” 

**  Her*  said  Mr.  Pollock;  ‘'who  was  he?” 

1 don’t  know,  sir,  indeed  1 don’t,”  said  Bob,  still  sniveling 


88 


STRUCK  BOWK. 


“ He’s  a sailor  chap,  who’s  been  in  here  now  and  a^ya^n  tor  papers. 
You’ve  seen  him,  Mr.  Flitch,  p’raps  you  can  tell  who  he  is?’" 

“D’ye  mean  that  dark  swarthy  fellow  who’s  been  so  keen  about 
the  murder?  1 don’t  mind  his  buying  any  papers  before  that  hap 
pened.” 

“ That’s  him,  Mr.  Flitch,”  interposed  the  boy, 'eagerly;  “ I wrote 
'em  for  him,  and  1 give  you  my  word,  sir,”  continued  Bob,  turning 
to  the  inspector,  “ that’s  all  1 know  about  it.” 

“ And  you?”  said  Mr.  Pollock,  turning  to  the  stationer. 

“ 1 only  knows  him  by  sight,”  replied  Mr.  Flitch.  “ I’ve  no  ides 
what  his  name  is — we  don’t  have  a many  sailors  amongst  our  cus- 
tomers  as  a rule,  and  such  as  we  have,  buys  their  papers  and  takes 
them  away  with  ’em.” 

“ But  you’d  know  him  again  if  you  saw  him,  1 suppose?”  said 
the  inspector,  sharply,  to  Bob. 

“ Yes,  sir;  I’m  quite  sure  1 should.  It  isn’t  often  anybody  gives 
me  two  bob,  and  1 ain’t  likely  to  forget  it.” 

“ Very  well,  my  lad,”  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  “ I shall  want  you 
before  long;  but  you’ve  no  cause  to  be  frightened.  No  harm  will 
come  to  3^011.  You’ll  only  have  to  answer  some  half  dozen  questions, 
that’s  all.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Flitch,  and  don’t  you  be  afraid  neither. 
Your  little  affair  will  be  all  right,”  and  with  that  the  inspector  left 
the  shop. 

“ Yes,”  he  mused,  as  he  walked  up  the  hill  toward  his  hotel; 
“ written  by  a sailor,  as  1 thought,  that  is,  dictated,  which  comes 
to  the  same  thing.  A cunning  beggar,  too,  and  wasn’t  going  to  let 
his  own  handwriting  betray  him.  Well!  1 think  I know  now  who 
dictated  those  letters.  After  that  little  scene  1 overheard  be- 
tween him  and  the  Senora^  1 fancy  Mr.  Dave  Skirley  is  the 
author  of  them.  Yes,  1 suppose  he  is  desperately  in  love  with 
the  girl,  and  thought  if  he  had  brought  his  two  rivals  face  to  lace, 
with  the  knowledge  that  they  were  rivals,  something  would  come 
of  it.  Something  did,  though  I’m  bound  to  admit  that  1 don’t  think 
Skirley  ever  contemplated  anything  of  that  kind.  Still,  he’s  got  a 
hold  over  Marietta  somehow,  and  I fancy  knows  pretty  well  what 
passed  in  the  citadel  that  night.  The  girl’s  sudden  departure  for 
London,  too!  She  is  evidently  in  dread  of  exposure  of  some  sort. 
A woman  who  commits  a great  crime  is  generally  more  difficult  to 
convict  than  a man.  She  never  seems  to  lose  her  presence  of  mind. 
She  will  lie  with  an  ease  and  simplicity  that  no  man  can  hope  to 
emulate.  Her  powers  of  dissimulation  are  often  extraordinary. 
No;  it’s  wonderful  the  resources  a woman  at  bay  will  display. 


STKUCK  DOWN. 


89 


Well,  to-morrow  Furness  is  brought  up  again  before  the  masistrates, 
and  though  I hate  having  to  show  my  hand  until  my  case  is  com- 
plete, yet  1 shall  have  to  show  pretty  well  all  I’m  sure  of,  or  else 
they’ll  say  there’s  hardly  a case  against  him.” 

The  court  was  crowded  next  morning  when  Captain  John  Fur- 
ness was  again  brought  before  it.  Mr.  Bradshaw,  the  counsel  for 
the  crown,  said  that  he  had  come  before  the  bench  that  morning  to 
ask  for  a committal.  That  the  prisoner  was  in  the  citadel  at  the 
time  of  the  murder  he  had  himself  admitted,  though  for  what  pur- 
pose he  had  declined  to  say.  He  could  now  enlighten  the  Dench 
upon  that  point.  He  went  there  for  the  purpose  of  meeting  a young 
lady  of  perfectly  unblemished  reputation,  and  for  whose  hand  he 
had  been  long  a suitor.  He  went  there  in  consequence  of  the 
anonymous  letters  which  he  (the  counsel)  had  produced  in  court  last 
week.  The  writer  of  those  anonymous  letters  had  been  discovered 
and  will  be  brought  before  you.  Whether  Captain  Furness  was  a 
favored  suitor,  or  whether  the  young  lady  merely  liked  him  in  a 
friendly  way,  it  is  not  for  me  to  determine;  but  certain  it  is  that, 
while  Captain  Furness  was  away  upon  his  last  voyage,  she  entered 
upon  a strong  fiirtation  with  Lieutenant  Clayford.  “ 1 am  in  a posi- 
tion to  prove,  gentlemen,  that,  expecting  to  meet  Mr.  Clayford  at 
the  ramparts  that  evening,  she  went  there;  but  instead  of  encount- 
ering the  deceased  she  met  the  piisoner.  Angry  words  apparently 
passed  bet.weeu  them,  and  they  parted;  she  walking  t o war il  the  gate 
of  the  citadel,  and  the  prisoner  continued  his  walk  round  the  ram- 
parts. How  it  is  a curious  point  that  the  police  have,  so  far,  utterly 
failed  to  ascertain  how  Captain  Furness,  or  the  lady  in  question, 
left  the  citadel.  They  were  seen  there  together  only  just  before  the 
gates  were  closed,  and  after  that  time  there  could  be  little  doubt 
that  the  soldiers  on  the  guard  would  have  been  able  to  speak  to 
them.  People  left  in  the  citadel  after  that  time  passed  through  the 
wicket,  the  small  door  in  the  gate.  Which  is  kept  locked,  and  which 
either  the  corporal  or  the  sergeant  of  the  guard  has  to  come  and  un- 
lock to  let  people  out.  How  1 must  ask  you,  in  the  interests  of 
justice,  to  let  me  withhold  the  name  of  this  lady  for  the  present. 
We  have  letters  of  hers  to  Lieutenant  Clayford.  We  have  plenty 
of  people  to  identify  the  handwriting,  and  there  can,  unfortunately 
for  herself,  be  no  doubt  of  her  identity — ” 

A spasm  passed  over  the  prisoner’s  face  at  this  announcement,  and 
his  lips  quivered,  bin  he  mastered  himself  by  a violent  effort,  and 
in  another  moment  had  regained  the  easy  composure  which  he  had 
maintained  ali  along. 


90 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


‘'Unfortunate!”  exclaimed  Mr.  Eldon.  “In  what  sense  do  you 
use  that  word,  Mr. V" 

“ 1 merely  mean  that  it  must  be  excessively  unpleasant  for  any 
lady  to  be  mixed  up  in  a case  of  this  description,  to  have  to  go 
through  the  ordeal  of  the  witness-box,  and  so  on.” 

“Ah!  true,  quite  so,”  remarked  Mr.  Eldon. 

Once  more  the  prisoner’s  mouth  twitched,  and  it  was  evident  that 
for  the  first  time  since  the  proceedings  commenced  he  was  strongly 
moved. 

“ We  are  able  to  show  conclusively  that,  although  Mr.  Leadei 
was  quite  unaware  of  it,  there  were  cartridges  in  his  servant’s 
kitchen  which  fitted  the  pistol.  Rivals  for  the  favor  of  the  young 
lady  before  mentioned,  there  would  naturally  be  bitter  blood  between 
the  two  men,  further  fomented  by  some  malicious  person  or  persons 
by  means  of  these  anonymous  letters— 1 say  persons,  advisedly,  be- 
cause there  were  evidently  two  people  concerned  in  their  composi- 
tion, one  of  whom  1 am  about  to  produce  in  court.  Our  theory  is 
this — that  the  prisoner,  after  parting  with  the  lady  in  question,  in 
his  passion  determined  to  confront  Mr.  Clayford.  He  doubtless 
made  some  inquiries  as  to  where  that  gentleman’s  quarters  were;  in 
fact,  we  are  able  to  produce  a man  who  will  testify  to  his  having 
done  so,  some  little  time  before  the  murder  was  committed. 
Whether  this  man  was  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  officers’ 
quarters,  or  whether  the  prisoner  misunderstood  him,  we  can’i  say, 
but  our  theory  is  that  he  got  into  Mr,  Leader’s  quarters  by  mistake, 
that  he  there  discovered  the  cartridges  and  the  pistol,  that  his  wrath 
intensified  by  nursing.  When  a man  broods  over  his  wrongs,  gen- 
tlemen, that  is  very  commonly  the  case.  Now  how  did  he  get  into 
Mr.  Leader’s  quarters?  1 am  instructed  that  the  door  of  an  officer’s 
quarters  is  usually  kept  locked,and  though  to  force  such  locks  as  they 
are  would  be  easy,  it  most  certainly  was  not  done  in  this  case;  but 
nothing  would  be  easier  than  to  gain. access  to  the  kitchen  by  the 
door,  if  it  was  left  open,  or  failing  that,  by  the  window,  which 
would  be  probably  left  unfastened.  It  is  customary  tor  the  servants 
to  hang  the  pass-key  of  their  master’s  chambers  on  a nail  over  the 
mantel-piece.  This  would  naturally  attract  his  attention,  and  as  the 
cartridges  were  kept  in  an  unlocked  drawer,  and  at  that  time  very 
possibly  an  open  drawer,  they  would  also  attract  his  notice.  Going 
upstairs  he  would  let  himself  into  Mr.  Leader’s  rooms,  and  a few 
scattered  letters  such  as  are  commonly  lying  about  any  man’s  table, 
would  show  him  at  once  that  he  was  not  in  the  quarters  of  the  man 
he  sought.  Our  theory  then  is,  gentlemen,  that  seeing  the  pistol  he 


STKUCK  DOWN, 


91 


took  it  from  its  (3ase,  and  for  the  first  time  murderous  thoughts 
entered  into  his  head.  He  went  down-stairs,  loaded  it,  and  com- 
menced a fresh,  search  for  Lieutenant  Clayford’s  rooms.  Kow  1 am 
told  by  those  who  have  inquired  into  the  thing,  that  the  latch-locks 
of  the  doors  of  that  range  of  buildings  are  all  very  much  of  the 
same  pattern,  and  that  the  same  key  will  open  two  doors  out  of 
three.  At  all  events,  which  is  quite  sufficient  for  our  purpose,  1 
can  prove  to  you  that  the  latch-key  of  Leader’s  rooms  would 
open  those  of  Mr.  Clayford.  Our  theory  then,  is,  that  taking  Mr 
Leader’s  latch-key  and  Mr.  Leader’s  pistol,  the  prisoner  somehow 
made  his  way  to  the  deceased  odlcer’s  quarters,  that,  there  he  was 
discovered  by  Mro  Clayford,  high  words  probably  passed  between 
them,  and  the  result  was  the  terrible  result  we  are  acquainted  with.’* 

“ Call  Robert  Jubber.” 

Bob  upon  being  placed  in  the  witness-box  exhibited  every  sign  of 
uneasiness.  Asked  whether  he  wrote  those  letters?  admitted  at  once 
that  he  did,  with  the  rider  that  he  meant  no  harm.  What  made 
him  write  them?  Explained  he  had  been  paid  to  write  them  by  a 
man  he  didn’t  know,  who  told  him  what  to  put  down.  {Should 
know  the  man  again  anywhere,  but  did  not  know  his  name;  he  was 
a very  dark-faced  sailor,  and  that  was  all  he  knew  about  him.  Had 
he  seen  him  before?  Yes,  several  times.  But  not  since?  'ho,  not 
since.  The  letters  were  written  at  different  times. 

Mr.  Crinkle  testified  to  the  cartridges  having  been  bought  at  Ids 
shop.  Simmons  acknowledged  to  their  purchase,  explained  what 
they  had  been  purchased  for,  and  further,  that  he  kept  them  in  the 
kitchen.  That  his  master  had  no  knowledge  that  the  pistol  had  ever 
been  fired.  That  he  had  been  afraid  to  confess  this  before,  for  fear 
of  getting  himself  into  trouble. 

“ This  is  all  the  evidence  we  consider  it  expedient  to  produce  at 
present,”  said  Mr.  Bradshaw.  “ The  further  evidence  which  we 
expect  to  be  able  to  produce  is  as  yet  not  quite  completed.  1 venture 
to  press  for  a committal  on  the  capital  charge  of  murder.  At  the 
trial  we  have  little  doubt  of  bringing  both  the  young  lady  and  the 
man  who  dictated  those  anonymous  letters  before  the  court,  but  to 
perfect  these  links  in  the  chain  of  evidence  requires  some  little  time,” 
and  tlien  the  counsel  for  the  crown  resumed  his  seat. 

Mr.  Faker  on  behalf  of  the  prisoner  rather  derided  the  evidence. 
He  said  there  were  no  grounds  whatever  for  the  committal  of  his 
client  on  this  charge.  That  the  theory  for  the  prosecution  was  ex- 
cessively ingenious,  but  that  it  was  mere  theory,  utterly  unsupported 
by  evidence,  and  he  felt  quite  certain  that  the  bench  would  release  9 


92 


STRUCK  DOWk. 


man  of  his  client’s  undoubtealy  respectable  position  on  bail,  even 
if  they  didn’t  pooh-pooh  (he  chargee  altogetiier. 

But  the  bencn  thought  otherwise,  and  after  a short  consultation 
amongst  themselves,  finally  committed  John  Furness  to  take  his 
trial  for  “ willful  murder.” 


1 CHAPTER  XVlll. 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  SENORA. 

“When  Jack  Furness  found  himself  in  the  cell  to  which  he  had 
been  committed  he  paced  the  room  anxiously.  His  face  was  begin- 
ning to  bear  the  aspect  of  a man  who  is  being  hunted  down. 
**  Yes,”  he  said  to  himself,  ” the  toils  grow  closer  and  closer.  1 am 
meshed  past  all  hope  of  escape.  Every  day  they  seem  to  discover 
more  evidence  against  me  and  Marietta!  1 have  striven  hard  to  save 
her  name,  to  prevent  her  being  mixed  up  in  this  terrible  business, 
but  all  to  no  purpose.  They  have  got  some  of  her  letters  to  the 
dead  man  in  their  possession,  and  naturally  had  very  little  trouble 
in  discovering  the  writer.  They  know  she  was  in  the  citadel  that 
evening.  They  don’t  know  all  yet.  1 wonder  whether  they  ever 
will?  Well,  if  they  put  Marietta  in  the  witness-box  and  compel 
her  to  tell  her  story,  it  is  possible  that  may  unchain  my  lips,  that 
in  open  court  1 may  be  able  to  tell  the  story  of  that  horrible  night. 
1 care  very  little  how  it  goes  with  me.  Marietta  is  lost  to  me,  we 
could  never  come  together  again  now— that  murdered  man  would 
always  stand  between  us.  1 wish  to  heavens  1 could  send  a note  to 
Marietta.  And  yet,  perhaps,  better  not.  1 know  her  passionate 
nature  so  well,  and  of  what  madness  she  could  be  capable  in  her 
anger.  Ho;  for  the  present,  1 will  keep  my  mouth  still  closed  and 
see  what  comes  of  it.  1 have  battled  hard  for  my  life  many  a time 
ere  this;  but  ah!  my  God!  it  wasn’t  like  this— 1 fought  with  man  or 
the  elements  with  unstained  name;  but  to  stand  a felon  in  the  dock; 
to  think  of  the  crowded  court  and  hundreds  of  eyes  all  glaring  at 
the  wild  beast  who  murderously  slew  his  fellow!  Ah!  the  nights 
are  terribly  long,  1 wonder  whether  so  wrecked  a life  as  mine  has 
ever  been?  Gone!  name,  character,  sweetheart,  everything,  in  one 
wild  evening,”  and  with  that  the  prisoner  threw  himself  on  his  bed 
and  moodily  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

M r.  Pollock,  in  spite  of  the  way  in  which  his  case  was  progressing, 
was  getting  very  uncomfortable  on  one  point.  He  felt  pretty  cer- 
tain that  ISkirley  was  the  dictator  of  those  anonymous  letters. 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


93 


He  could  lay  his  hand  upon  him  whenever  he  liked,  and  though 
Mr.  Dave  Skirley  was  quite  unaware  of  the  attention  extended  to 
him,  he  was  under  the  strict  surveillance  of  the  Plymouth  police, 
who  held  a warrant  for  his  apprehension,  all  duly  signed  and  sealed. 
But  what  disturbed  Mr.  PoUock  was  that  he  could  hear  nothing  con- 
cerning Marietta  from  London.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  had  wired 
to  Scotland  Yard.  The  answer  was  that  they  had  not  succeeded  yet 
in  tracing  the  young  lady. 

Now,  this  was  a tremendous  flaw  in  Mr.  Pollock’s  case.  He  was 
by  no  means  clear  that  hers  was  not  the  hand  that  had  fired  the 
pistol.  Not  only  from  what  he  had  seen,  but  also  from  what  he 
had  heard,  he  was  quite  aware  of  the  hot,  wild  Spanish  blood  that 
coursed  through  her  veins.  He  recollected  the  advice  of  his  friend 
Captain  Noreton,  who  had  said  to  him;  “Look  here,  my  man; 
you're  iiew  to  the  house,  and  I’ll  just  give  you  one  hint  about  the 
shoals  and  quicksands,”  and  then  lowering  his  voice  to  a mysteri- 
ous whisper  the  captain  added:  “If  so  be  you  find  the  Senora  in 
her  tantrums,  crowd  on  all  sail  till  you  pass  the  bar,  and  when  you 
reach  the  parlor  lay  by  and  stick  to  your  moorings.” 

It  was  awkward.  He  didq’t  want  to  leave  Plymouth  at  the  present 
moment;  but  it  could  not  be  helped.  It  would  never  do  to  let  the 
Senora  slip  through  his  fingers.  He  must  go  up  to  London  and  look 
after  her  himself.  It  was  all  very  well  to  send  up  a description; 
but  there  were  scores  of  handsome  Spanish-looking  women  about 
town.  Now,  he  knew  her  thoroughly  by  sight,  while  as  for  his 
London  confreres  they  were  necessarily  working  very  much  in  the 
dark.'  He  ascertained  that  no  news  had  been  heard  of  Marietta 
since  her  departure,  a fact  about  which  there  was  no  secret  at  the 
Golden  Galleon,  for  old  John  Black  was  greatly  put  out  at  not  hav- 
ing had  a line  from  his  daughter.  “ I oughtn’t  to  have  let  her  go,” 
he  said  to  his  cronies.  “ ‘VV'hat’s  a girl  like  that  to  know  about  the 
snares  and  wickedness  of  London?  1 ought  to  have  run  up  with 
her  and  seen  the  wench  comfortably  settled,  though  what  she  want- 
ed to  go  for  beats  me.  She  never  wished  to  see  London  before,  and 
what’s  put  it  into  her  head  now  1 can’t  think.” 

Convinced  that  her  father  knew  no  more  about  Marietta’s  where 
abouts  than  any  one  else,  Mr.  Pollock  wasted  no  further  time,  but 
simply  took  the  first  train  to  town.  Arrived  there,  he  waited  quietly 
till  the  bustle  of  unloading  the  train  was  over  and  the  passengers 
had  taken  their  departure,  then  he  quickly  gathered  round  him  two 
or  three  of  the  porters,  told  them  accurately  the  train  by  which  the 
Senora  had  arrived  two  days  befoie,  gave  a vivid  description  of  her 


94 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


jersDn,  and  said  there  was  a matter  of  £5  to  any  man  who  could 
recollect  the  number  of  the  cab  intD  which  he  had  placed  her.  The 
porters  listened  attentively,  and  then  one  of  them  said:  “Ah!  we 
had  a gentleman  here  making  inquiries  about  that  young  lady  be- 
fore; and  we’ve  talked  it  well  over  among  ourselves,  and  we’ve 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  Logan  was  the  man  who  put  that  there 
lady  into  the  cab,  but  he  don’t  know  the  number,  and  he  can’t  rec 
ollect  where  he  told  the  man  to  drive  to.  You  see,  sir,  we  give  the 
cabmen  so  many  addresses  in  the  course  of  the  day  that  they  all  get 
jumbled  up  like.” 

“ And  1 suppose  the  gentleman  who  came  here  before  about  it 
described  her  luggage  to  you?” 

“ Oh,  yes!”  replied  the  porter,  glibly.  “ A large  black  leather 
box  studded  with  brass  nails,  a black  leather  bonnet-box,  and  black 
leather  traveling-bag.  ” 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Mr.  Pollock,  “lam  very  much  afraid  that 
£6  will  be  lost  to  Logan  all  through  his  want  of  memory.  How- 
ever, there  it  is;  tor  anybody,  remember,  who  can  bring  me  the 
number  of  the  cab  or  the  address  to  which  that  cab  was  driven, 
providing,  of  course,  it  turns  out  to  be  the  party  I’m  in  search  of.” 

Mr.  Pollock  now  drove  as  quickly  as  he  could  from  Paddington 
to  Scotland  Yard.  Here,  as  he  expected,  there  was  no  news  of  the 
missing  Senor a.  They  had  take  all  the  ordinary  steps,  but  so  far 
without  success.  ' 

“ There  seem  to  me,”  said  one  of  Mr.  Pollock’s  comrades  when 
he  saw  him,  “ to  be  only  two  ways  of  getting  hold  of  this  girl.  Did 
you  see  the  porter  who  took  her  things?” 

“ No;  they  told  me  he  knew  nothing,  so  1 didn’t  think  it  worth 
while.” 

“ 'Well,  he’s  about  as  melon* headed  as  they  make  ’em,  and  there’s 
nothing  to  be  got  out  of  him.  You’ll  either  have  to  get  it  out  of 
the  cabman  or  else  to  advertise  in  the  ’ Times  ’ tor  a missing  young 
lady,  with  a reward  to  any  one  who  will  restore  her  to  her  friends. 
By  the  way,  how  are  you  oli  for  funds?  We  thought  that  £25  for 
identifying  the  handwriting  rather  stiff.” 

“Ah!”  replied  Mr.  Pollock,  “ I’ve  got  lots  of  money  at  my  dis- 
posal. The  regiment  subscribed  a very  handsome  sum  to  be  spent 
in  the  investigation  of  the  murder;  and  Mr.  Clayford’s  brother  not 
only  wrote  me  a check  for  £50  for  the  same  purpose,  but  told  me  i 
could  have  more  if  1 wanted  it.” 

“ It  was  judicious  the  Government  has  offered  a reward,  and  his 
friends  very  properly  voted  their  money  for  secret  service.  There 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


95 


are  a good  many  criminals  slip  through  our  hands  because  the  funds 
at  our  disposal  prove  insufficient.  Only  let  the  bait  be  tempting 
enough,  and  it's  astonishing  how  it  sharpens  men's  faculties.” 

“Quite  right!”  said  Mr.  Pollock,  “and  fortunately  in  this  case 
I am  in  a position  to  bid  high.” 

” I suppose  this  girl  is  very  essential  to  your  case?”  observed  his 
companion. 

” She  just. is,”  said  Mr.  Pollock.  “ She  is  a most  important  wit- 
ness, and  hang  me  if  1 Know  what  to  think  about  it.  Aftei  this  sud- 
den bolt  of  hers  1 wouldn’t  quite  swear  that  she  isn’t  the  principalo 
1 certainly  did  think  I’d  got  the  right  man;  but  the  behavior  of  this 
girl  puzzles  me.  At  all  events,  find  her  1 must.” 

ISo  information  being  appaiently  to  be  extracted  from  the  railway 
porters,  Mr.  Pollock  was  reduced,  as  his  comiade  had  said,  to  re. 
searches  among  the  cabmen  and  advertising.  Now,  aflvertising  had 
this  objection,  that  the  Senora  might  see  the  advertisement  quite  as 
soon  as  her  landlady  and  immediately  change  her  abode.  “ No,” 
thought  Mr.  Pollock,  “ 1 will  begin  with  the  cabmen.” 

Now,  the  cabmen  have  their  haunts  as  well  as  other  people.  There 
are  certain  public-houses  that  they  frequent,  and  in  which  great 
deference  is  paid  to  this  class  of  customers.  They  generally  have  a 
room  set  apart  for  them,  which  is  looked  upon  as  almost  a sort  of 
club-room.  In  fact,  if  you  be  no  cabman,  you  have  no  right  in  this 
room.  It  is  as  strictly  preserved  for  their  class  as  the  ” skipper’s 
parlor  ” at  the  Golden  Galleon  was  for  master  mariners.  With  all 
these  places  Pollock  was  perfectly  familiar.  He  had  Deen  into  them 
disguised ; he  had  been  into  them  in  his  own  character  as  Inspector 
Pollock  of  the  police,  and  in  his  own  character  he  was  always 
especially  welcome.  Mr.  Pollock  could  adapt  Himself  to  any  com- 
pany. He  was  full  of  good  stories,  which  he  told  well;  he  could 
sing  a good  song  if  occasion  require^;  and  when  he  made  these 
visits  it  was,  as  in  the  present  instance,  to  get  information  which 
put  money  in  the  pock  it  of  the  man  able  to  supply  it,  and  compro- 
mised nobody.  Mr.  Pollock  accordingly  made  his  round  of  these 
houses  as  quickly  as  he  could.  A.t  each  place  he  told  his  errand 
frankly,  and  finally  affixed  a paper  over  the  mantel-piece,  on  which 
was  written  out  a description  of  the  Senora,  her  baggage,  the  date  of 
her  arrival  at  Paddington,  and  the  time  of  the  train  by  which  she 
came,  with  an  intimation  that  there  was  £S  for  any  cabman  sup- 
plying the  lady’s  address. 

The  inspector  had  not  to  wait  long;  halt  a score  of  cabme?^ 
hungry  for  that  £5,  were  speedily  in  communication  with  bm 


96 


STKUCK  DOWN. 


Some  ot  these  applicants  tvere  evidently  clinging  to  the  most  shad^ 
owy  hope  that  their  fares  might  turn  out  to  be  the  right  person. 
Mr.  Pollock  journeyed  vainly  to  various  parts  of  the  metropolis; 
was  flouted  by  dark,  angry  women,  and  interviewed  stout  Jewesses 
corresponding  by  no  means  to  the  description.  In  their  anxiety  to 
grasp  such  a windfall  there  was  hardly  a cabman  whe  had  driven 
a dark  lady  from  Paddington  that  day  wlio  did  not  think  it  worth 
having  a try  for,  and  three  drtys'  bard  work  found  Mr.  Pollock 
tar  from  being  on  the  track  ot  the  Senora  as  ever, 

This  won’t  do,”  said  the  inspector  one  morning;  “ don’t  look 
as  it  1 was  going  to  get  it  out  of  the  cabmen;  either  he  was  rather  a 
beery  driver,  who  took  no  notice  of  anything,  or,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  was  a quiet,  steady,  hard-working  married  man,  who  never  goes 
near  these  night  cribs.  1 don’t  like  to  advertise.  Stop!  1 have  it. 
It’s  an  ofl-chance,  certainly:  but  it’s  rather  queer  tor  a man  of  my 
experience  not  to  have  thought  ot  it  before,  1 never  saw  this  man 
Logan,  the  porter  at  the  Paddington  station  who  they  believe  pu^^ 
the  Senora  and  her  luggage  into  a cab.  It’s  true  my  colleagues  in 
the  Yard  could  make  nothing  out  of  him;  but  then  ] know  so  much 
more  about  the  esse  than  they  do.  By  Jove!  I’ll  go  down  to  the 
Great  Western  Station  and  see  that  fellow  at  once.” 

Another  five  minutes  saw  Mr.  Pollock  bowling  away  to  Padding- 
ton best  pace,  and  no  sooner  had  he  arrived  there  than  he  at  once 
asked  to  see  the  superintendent  ot  the  statiem,  told  him  who  he  was 
and  his  present  errand.  “Certainly;  Logan  shall  be  sent  for  at 
once.”  And  of  course  the  superintendent  only  tiusted  Mr.  Pollock 
would  get  the  information  he  required  from  him. 

A tew  minutes,  and  Jerry  Logan  appeared.  A quiet,  steady  man, 
who  had  grown  gray  in  the  service  ot  the  company. 

“ Now,  Logan,  1 just  want  to  ask  you  a few  questions,  and  1 am 
auie  you  can  answer  them,  it  you’ll  only  just  take  the  trouble  to  rec- 
ollect.” 

“ Just  what  the  gentleman  said  the  other  day,  your  honor;  and 
didn’t  we  both  hammer  at  it  for  a quarter  of  an  hour,  and  make 
nothing  of  it?” 

“ I hey  tell  me  you  perfectly  recollect  getting  the  luggage  of  a 
dark,  handsome  young  lady,  who  arrived  here  by  the  through  train 
from  Plymouth  on  Wednesday  evening.” 

“ Recollect  her,  is  it?  1 may  be  gettin’  on  in  years,  but  I’m 
not  that  ould  I don’t  know  a raal  clipper  when  1 see  one,  We 
Haven’t  had  as  good-looking  a oae  as  that  through  the  station  thi? 
season.” 


STEUCK  DOWN. 


O’? 


Mr.  Pollock  was  not  a little  posed.  His  confreres  had  pronounced 
this  man  an  addle-headed  old  Irishman.  Mr.  Pollock  had  already 
arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  though  somewhat  voluble  and  difficult 
to  hold  to  the  point,  the  man  was  as  shrewd  as  any  of  his  country- 
men, 

“ Well,  you  put  this  lady’s  luggage  into  a cab.  Did  you  see  the 
number  of  it?'’ 

That's  just  what  the  gintleman  who  was  here  before  asked  me. 
Well,  now,  1 put  it  to  your  honor,  was  it  likely,  while  a man  could 
look  at  the  lady,  he’d  bother  himself  looking  after  the  cab?” 

” Well,  but  1 suppose  she  told  you  where  the  man  was  to  drive 
her  to?” 

“ Not  she.  She  only  told  me  to  tell  him  to  drive  on  toward  Hyde 
Park.” 

” And  that’s  all  you  can  tell  me?”  observed  Mr.  Pollock,  with  in- 
finite disappointment,  ” 1 suppose  you  know,  Logan,  that  there’s  a 
five-pound  note  for  any  one  who  can  help  me  to  this  lady’s  ad- 
dress? However,  it  doesn’t  seem  as  if  you  would  earn  it.” 

“Heaven  knows,  your  honoi,  I’d  earn  it  quick  enough  if  1 
could,  it  would  be  new  boots  for  the  childthren  at  home,  and  a score 
more  little  things  that  the  missus  do  be  always  tazing  me  about, 
and  that  we  can’t  find  the  money  for.” 

Suddenly  a thought  struck  Pollock. 

“ What  did  this  lady  give  you?”  he  said. 

“ Well,  she  gave  me  a shilling;  and  I’d  have  taken  particular 
note  of  her  had  it  been  only  for  that;  it’s  tizzies  and  fourpenny  bits 
we  get  mostly  from  ladies  traveling  alone.” 

“No,”  mused  Mr.  Pollock  ; “ he  has  apparently  not  been  paid 
to  keep  the  Senora’s  secret,  and  1 am  afraid  there  is  nothing  to  be 
got  out  of  him.”  A.nd  the  inspector  was  bout  to  take  his  departure, 
when  Logan  suddenly  said  to  him.  in  a half-deprecating  manner: 

“1  wonder  whether  this  would  be  anny  good  to  your  honor?”  And 
! as  he  spoke  he  handed  the  inspector  an  envelope  bearing  the  ad- 
dress 

MBS.  FAIRLEIGH, 

73  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Terrace. 

“Did  you  see  the  lady  drop  this?”  inquired  Mr.  Pollock,  sharply. 

“ No,  sir,  1 found  it  on  the  ground  just  alter  her  cab  haddlhriven 
off,  and  thrust  it  into  my  throusers  pocket.  Shure  1 can’t  tell  you 
why.  1 had  clane  forgot  all  about  it  till  this  morning.” 

“ Well,  I’ll  take  this,  Logan,”  said  the  inspector,  after  a mo- 

nrjent’s  consideration*  “ and  if  anything  comes  of  it,  you  shall  have 
4 


98 


STKUCK  DOWK. 


the  reward  all  rignt/'  And  so  saying,  Mr.  Pollock  walked  sharply 
off  in  search  of  a cab. 

“IPs  all  in  my  way,  and  worth  trying,  anyhow, he  said  to 
himself,  as  he  stepped  into  it.  “ If  she  did  dr>p  it  it  is  probably 
the  address  ot  the  house  at  which  she  v/as  going  to  stayc’’ 

A very  lew  minutes,  and  Pollock  arrived  at  the  house  he  sought. 
A very  few  questions  convinced  him  that  he  had  found  the  lost 
sheep,  and,  what  is  more,  that  she  was  at  home. 

“ Now,  just  show  me  up  at  once,  my  dear,'’  said  the  inspector, 
slipping  half  a crown  into  the  girl’s  hand  who  had  answered  the 
door. 

“ What  name  am  1 to  say,  sir said  the  servant. 

“ Mr.  Pollock,”  rejoined  the  detective,  and  immediately  followed 
the  girl  so  closely  that  it  was  quite  evident  he  meant  to  be  in  the 
room  as  soon  as  his  name. 

“ Mr.  Pollock!”  exclaimed  the  Senora,  and  her  cheeks  flushed, 
and  a rather  dangerous  sparkle  came  into  her  eyes.  “ I am  at  a 
loss  to  understand  the  meaning  of  this  intrusion” 

“My  dear  young  lady,”  rejoined  the  inspector,  “1  have  come 
to  persuade  you  to  return  with  me  to  Plymouth  by  the  next  train. 
Your  father  is  very  unhappy  at  your  absence.” 

“ By  what  right  do  you  dare  to  interfere  with  my  movements?” 
interposed  Marietta,  holly. 

“Well,  Miss  Black,  it’s  an  unpleasant  duty,  but  1 suppose  there’s 
no  use  fencing  about  the  bush.  1 am  Inspector  Pollock,  of  the  de- 
tective police,  and  I must  take  you  back  to  Plymouth  for  complicity 
in  the  citadel  murder.” 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  TRIAL. 

The  court-house  at  Exeter  was  crowded  when  Mr.  Justice  Shin- 
gles took  his  seat  on  the  bench  to  preside  over  the  trial  of  the 
Crown  v,  John  Furness  for  willful  murder.  All  the  habitues  of  the 
“ skipper’s  parlor,”  headed  by  Captain  Noreton,  had  come  up  from 
Plymouth  to  see,  in  the  vrords  ot  that  veteran,  “ that  their  old  com- 
rade had  fair  play,”  though  what  that  distinguished  mariner  meant 
by  these  indefinite  words  it  would  be  diflacult  to  say.  There  were 
rumors  of  all  sorts  concerning  the  trial.  It  was  known  at  the  Gold- 
en Galleon  that  the  Senora  had  returned  as  suddenly  as  she  had 
left.  But  she  had  appeared  no  more  in  the  bar,  and  kept  strictly  to 
her  own  rooms.  They  had  also  ascertained,  much  to  their  indigna- 


STRUCK  BOWK. 


99 


tion,  that  the  house  was  under  the  close  surveillance  of  the  police — 
that  night  and  day  watch  and  ward  was  kept  over  the  Golden  Gal- 
leon. 

Mr.  Pollock,  on  his  return  journey  with  the  Senora,  had  kindly 
but  firmly  told  her  that  he  had  a warrant  for  her  arrest  in  his  packet, 
that  he  had  no  intention  of  using  it  unless  compelled,  but  unless  she 
remained  quiet  at  the  Golden  Galleon  till  the  trial,  he  should  be  com- 
pelled to  do  so.  Any  attempt  to  escape  from  Plymouth  would  lead 
to  her  beins:  immediately  taken  into  custody.  The  girl  had  shed 
scalding  tears  of  agony  wh^n  it  was  broken  to  her  that  she  would 
have  to  give  evidence  on  the  trial,  and  she  was  now  staying  in  Exe- 
ter comfortably  lodged  in  the  castle  with  her  father,  and  though 
not  nominally,  yet  virtually,  in  charge  of  the  police. 

Dave  Skirley  had  for  some  time  past  been  aware  that  his  foot- 
steps were  persistently  dogged.  He  was  not  a nervous  man,  but 
the  idea  that  you  are  being  tracked,  go  where  you  may,  gradually 
begins  to  wear  the  mind  of  any  man  who  may  be  exposed  to  it* 
He  may  be  innocent  of  all  offending  against  his  fellow-creatures, 
but,  like  the  rabbit,  when  he  becomes  aware  that  the  relentless  wea- 
sel is  on  his  trail,  he  becomes  apprehensive  of  he  knows  not  what. 
Skirley  was  in  this  position;  be  could  not  always  make  out  his 
follower — was  usually  somewhat  uncertain  about  him.  Sometimes 
he  took  the  form  of  one  man,  sometimes  of  anothei ; but  even  when 
he  could  not  see  him,  he  nevertheless  felt  quite  certain  that  there 
were  a keen  pair  of  eyes  watching  his  every  movement,  and  Dave 
Skirley  got  excessively  uncomfortable  under  the  ordeal.  Although 
he  mixed  his  rum-and- water  stiller  and  stifier,  still  that  didn't  seem 
to  meet,  the  case.  Finally,  Mr.  Pollock,  whose  incognito  was  by 
this  time  pretty  well  a thing  of  the  past,  served  him  with  a subpoena 
to  attend  the  trial  at  Exeter. 

Mr.  Skirley,  turning  the  whole  thing  over  in  his  mind,  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  th#^y  had  discovered  he  was  the  author  of  the 
anonymous  letters.  Well,  there  was  no  great  harm  in  that,  he  had 
only  done  his  best  to  serve  a comrade;  it  might  not,  perhaps,  be 
just  the  best  way  to  do  it,  but  it  was  the  way  that  seemed  best  to 
him  at  the  time.  So  Mr.  Skirley  came  meekly  to  Exeter  with  his 
brethren,  still  conscious  that  the  police  were  watching  him  with  un- 
tiring eyes. 

The  grand  jury  have  returned  a true  bill;  and  on  a gray  Novem- 
ber morning  John  Furness,  standing  in  the  felon’s  dock,  pleads 
“ Not  Guilty  ” to  the  charge  of  the  willful  murder  of  Charles  Cecil 
Clayford,  in  the  citadel  of  Plymouth,  ©n  the  evening  of  July  2^, 


100  STRUCK  DOW5T. 

18 — . The  counsel  tor  the  crowm  rises,  and  in  his  opening  speech 
traverses  all  the  old  ground  with  which  we  are  already  acquainted. 
Once  more  he  points  out  the  rivalry  between  the  two  men;  that  the 
lady,  the  object  of  their  mutual  aduiiration,  met  her  old  lover  when 
expecting  to  meet  h(?r  new  adorer;  \hat  high  words  passed  between 
them,  and  that,  to  use  a homely  phrase,  she  apparently  flouted  the 
prisoner. 

“ Gentlemen,  if  woman  can  confer  great  happiness  upon  us,’’ 
continued  the  learned  counsel,  “ there  is  no  doubt  but  that  she  has 
also  been  the  cause  of  incalculable  woe  to  our  sex  besides.  Thou- 
sands of  men  died  and  a bitter  war  was  prosecuted  because,  when 
Mme.  la  Pompadour  sent  a gracious  message  to  Frederick  the  Great, 
he  cynically  replied  that  ‘ he  did  not  know  her.’  And  the  bitterest 
quarreU  among  men  have  been  fought  in  their  rivalry  fora  woman’s 
smile.  We  shall  show  you  by  unimpeachable  circumstantial  evi- 
dence that  the  prisoner,  after  parting  with  the  lady  before  men- 
tioned, made  his  way  toward  the  officers’  quarters.  We  shall  pro- 
duce to  you  a witness  from  whom  he  inquired  his  way  to  Mr, 
Clayford’s  rooms.  From  this  man’s  directions  he  no  doubt  dis- 
covered them,  and  having  obtained  entrance — and  how  he  did  that 
we  shall  also  explain  to  you — he  then  awaited  the  arrival  of  his  un- 
fortunate victim.  What  passed  between  them  is  known  to  no  one 
but  the  prisoner;  whether  it  was  a violent  quarrel,  or  whether  de- 
liberate, cold-blooded  murder,  we  can  not  say;  but  1 deeply  regret 
that  the  facts  1 shall  lay  before  you  seem  to  point  to  the  latter. 
We  have,  gentlemen,  a consideiable  mass  of  evidence  to  produce  not 
forthcoming  at  the  preliminarj*  examination.  We  shall  bring 
before  you  the  author  of  the  anonymous  letters,  and  you  will  hear 
from  his  own  lips  what  induced  him  to  write- them;  we  shall  fur- 
ther place  in  the  witness  box,  painful  though  it  must  be  for  her, 
the  young  lady,  the  unfortunate  cause  of  this  melancholy  disaster. 
And  shall  further,  1 think,  be  able  to  demonstiate  to  your  satisfac- 
tion the  way  in  which  the  prisoner  most  probably  left  the  citadel.” 

The  prisoner  had  listened  quite  quietly,  and  with  his  usual  com- 
posure, to  the  opening  speech  of  the  counsel  for  the  crown,  until  he 
came  to  pledging  himself  to  place  the  Senora  in  the  witnees-box. 
Then  he  was  evidently  perturbed.  He  trembled  slightly,  and  there 
was  a nervous  twitching  in  his  mouth,  which  the  practiced  legal 
gladiator  employed  against  him  noted  instantly. 

“ The  case  will  hinge  on  the  evidence  of  that  girl,”  he  whispered 
to  the  solicitor  behind  him,  “ and  1 fancy  the  witness  Skirley  will 
contribute  important  evidence  when  properly  turned  out,” 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


101 


“ Gentlemen,”  continued  the  counsel  for  the  crown,  “ 1 must  now 
inform  you  that  it  is  quite  easy  for  an  active  man,  at  one  point  of  the 
ramparts,  to  not  only  descend  into  the  ditch,  but  to  ascend  the  other 
side,  and  so  find  himself  without  the  citadel.  Sergeant  Blane  will 
tell  you  that  soldiers  have  not  only  been  known  to  break  out  of  bar- 
racks that  way,  but  have  also  been  discovered  in  the  very  act  of  re- 
turning. Further,  1 shall  put  a police-oflacer  in  the  box,  who,  in 
order  to  test  the  feasibility  of  that  mode  of  egress,  essayed  it  him- 
self with  complete  success.  I won’t  detain  you  longer,  but  will 
now  proceed  to  call  my  witnesses  in  categorical  order.  ” 

I’he  first  man  to  enter  the  witness-box  was  Private  Jennings,  the 
dead  man’s  servant.  He  briefly  described  how,  having  occasion  to 
go  into  his  master’s  rooms  at  a late  hour,  to  finish  some  packing  for 
him,  he  found  Mr.  Clayford  lying  dead  upon  the  floor,  the  revolver, 
from  V^hich  two  barrels  had  been  discharged,  on  the  floor  near  him. 

The  medical  evidence  came  next,  which  went  to  show  that  it  was 
almost  impossible  the  wounds  could  have  been  self-inflicted ; most 
especially,  that  which  was,  in  all  probability,  the  second  shot.  Mr. 
Leader  then  testified  to  the  ownership  of  the  pistol,  and  how  the 
weapon  was  usually  kept  hanging  up  in  its  case  in  his  roona.  He 
was  a very  intimate  friend  of  the  deceased’s;  and  though  he  cer- 
tainly had  been  somewhat  absent  that  night  at  dinner,  he  had  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  he  was  in  difllculties  ^of  any  nature,  or  that 
there  was  any  cause  for  his  being  depressed  in  spirits;  in  fad,  he 
knew  no  cause  that  could  have  led  him  to  the  terrible  step  of  sui- 
cide. The  next  witness  was  Simmons,  who  confessed  to  the  pur- 
chase of  the  cartridges;  how  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  practicing 
with  the  pistol  in  the  ditch  of  the  citadel,  and  how  he  undoubtedly 
had  still  about  a score  of  cartridges  in  the  drawer  of  the  kitchen  on 
the  night  of  the  murder.  ‘Was  quite  certain  that  the  revolver  was 
not  loaded.  It  would  be  very  easy  to  get  into  the  kitchen.  There 
was  only  one  key  to  the  back-door,  which,  as  he  and  another  servant 
had  to  use  in  common,  was  usually  hung  on  a nail  outside  the  door. 
This  admission  of  house- closing  excited  no  little  merriment  in  court. 
The  idea  of  locking  the  door,  and  hanging  the  key  alongside  of  it, 
being  a singular  way  of  protecting  property.  What  did  he  usually 
do  with  his  master’s  pass-key?  It  hung  on  a nail  over  the  kitchen 
fire-place. 

“ In  short,  gentlemen,  you  see  Mr.  Leader’s  kitchen  and  rooms 
were  simply  open  to  anybody  who  took  the  trouble  to  use  the  keys.” 

Then  came  the  evidence  of  the  sentry  who  had  heard  the  two 
shots  fired,  and  Sergeant  Blane ; of  the  sentries  on  the  gate,  both 


102 


STKUCK  DOWN. 


before  and  after  the  last  post.  The  sentry  at  the  back  of  the 
officers’  quarters  testified  to  seeing  the  prisoner  in  earnest  conversa- 
tion with  a young  lady.  As  far  as  he  could  judge,  high  words 
passed  between  them,  and  they  separated  abruptly.  Sergeant  Blane, 
in  the  course  of  his  evidence,  bore  witness  to  the  ease  with  which  an 
active  man  could  escape  from  the  citadel,  adding  that  they  had  had 
several  instances  amongst  the  soldiers  in  his  own  regiment. 

To  recapitulate  all  this  evidence  at  full  length  would  only  weary 
the  reader,  as  it  has  all  been  before  him  at  the  preliminary  examina- 
tion. The  same  may  be  said  of  Marietta  Black’s  letters,  which 
showed  conclusively  that  the  deceased  was  her  lover,  and  the  last  of 
which  was  the  only  one  which  bore  prominently  on  the  case — 
namely,  the  letter  in  which  she  asked  him  to  meet  her  on  the  ram- 
parts the  very  evening  he  came  by  his  death. 

That  the  prisoner  was  much  moved  by  the  reading  of  these  let- 
ters, was  manifest  to  every  one  in  court.  His  hands  gripped  the 
front  of  tlie  dock  hard;  the  veins  stood  out  on  his  forehead;  and 
the  compressed  lips  were  a sure  sign  of  the  tumult  within. 

“ 1 propose,”  said  the  counsel,  “ to  take  all  the  letters  now.  The 
writer  of  those  I have  just  read  1 shall  bring  before  you  a little 
later.  1 will  now  read  the  anonymous  letters,  and  then  produce 
their  writer,  and  also  the  author  of  them;  for,  gentlemen,  there 
were  two  persons  concerned  in  these  letters.” 

The  anonymous  correspondence  having  been  read,  Bob  lubber 
was  placed  in  the  witness-box,  and  briefly  told  the  story,  with  which 
we  are  already  acquainted.  He  adhered  positively  to  his  original 
statement,  that  though  he  didn’t  know  his  name,  he  should  know 
the  man  who  paid  him  to  write  them,  it  he  saw  him.  As  he  con- 
cluded. the  counsel  called  upon  him  to  look  round  to  his  left,  and 
see  it  he  recognized  any  one  amongst  the  men  standing  near  him. 
Bob  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  without  the  slightest  hesitation 
picked  out  Dave  Skirley. 

Somewhat  sullenly,  Mr.  Skirley  succeeded  Bob  in  the  witntiss- 
box,  and  admitted  the  authorship  of  the  anonymous  letters.  Closely 
examined,  he  said  that  the  deceased  was  a sweetheart  of  Marietta 
Black’s;  that  he  had  discovered  it  while  Furness  was  on  his  last 
voyage,  and  had  hastened  to  acquaint  the  prisoner  with  that  discov- 
ery on  his  return. 

” How  did  he  come  that  knowledge?”. 

‘ Because  1 had  a strong  interest  in  watcliing  Marietta  Black’s 
movements.” 


STRUCK  DOWK.  103 

‘'Indeed!  Allow  me  to  ask  of  what  nature  that  interest  con- 
sisted?” 

“ Consisted!”  exclaimed  ISkirley,  with  a sudden  hurst  ot  passion, 
that  electrified  the  court.  ”1  lored  her  too — as  passionately,  as 
madly  as  either  of  them.  1 was  content  to  take  my  chance  against 
Furness;  but  when  an  interloper  like  the  dead  man  appeared  upon 
the  scene,  it  was  time  to  be  up  and  doing.  What  business  had  he 
to  come  amongst  us  for  his  sweetheart?  We  are  not  of  his  class, 
and  his  soft-spoken  tongue  was  more,  likely  to  please  a girl’s  fancy 
tiian  the  wooing  of  a rough  sailor.  Furness  stood  before  me  in 
Marietta’s  good  graces.  Had  1 stood  before  him,  1 would  never 
have  written  those  letters.  1 would  have  taken  the  quarrel  into  my 
07»^n  hands.” 

” 1 don’t  think  1 need  ask  you  any  further  questions,”  said  the 
crown  counsel.  And,  indeed,  Skirley  was  already  regretting  his 
burst  of  passion,  and  likely  to  prove  a sullen  intractable  witness 
henceforth. 

And  now  came  the  great  sensation  ot  the  day,  the  call  of  ” Mari- 
etta Black.”  The  Senora,  leaning  on  her  father’s  arm,  came  for- 
ward, and,  closely  veiled,  took  her  place  in  the  witness-box.  The 
veil,  of  course,  she  had  speedily  to  raise,  for  the  purpose  of  taking 
the  oath;  and  a slight  buzz  of  admiration  ran  round  the  court  at  the 
sight  of  her  handsome  face  and  graceful  figure. 

After  the  first  few  preliminary  questions,  the  counsel  produced 
her  letters,  and  asked  her  whether  she  admitted  being  the  writer  of 
them.  Marietta  bowed  her  head  in  assent. 

” In  accordance  with  your  last  letter,  1 presume.  Miss  Black,  you 
went  into  the  citadel  to  meet  Mr.  Clayford?” 

“Yes,”  replied  the  witness  in  a low  tone. 

“ Did  you  see  him  at  all,  that  evening?” 

“Ho!” 

“ However,  it  you  didn’t  meet  Mr.  Clayford,  you  met  the  prisoner 
upon  the  ramparts?” 

“Yes.” 

Now  please  to  tell  us  what  passed  between  you.” 

The  witness  hesitated  for  a few  moments,  and  then  replied:  “ Some 
bitter  words.  Captain  Furness  was  angry  about  my  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  Clayford.  1 told  him  that  what  1 did,  or  whom  I chose 
to  know,  was  no  aflair  of  his;  that  I was  neitner  goin^c  to  be  dictat- 
ed to,  nor  spied  upon,  by  any  man  on  earth— in  short,  we  quarreled 
and  separated.” 

Miss  Black,”  said  the  counsel,  **  1 don’t  want  to  pain  you  un- 


104 


STRUCK  DOWlsT. 


iDecessarily,  but  remember  you  are  upon  your  oath,  and  1 must  ask 
you  another  question  before  1 release  you.  W hat  were  the  exact 
words  the  prisoner  made  use  of  in  reply  to  that  speech  of  yours?” 

Again  the  witness  hesitated  for  some  little  time.  A stifled  sob 
escaped  lier,  and  at  last  she  replied,  “ He  told  me,  that  whether  he 
had  a right  or  not,  he  was  not  going  to  see  my  name  disgraced,  and 
that  as  reasoning  with  me  was  useless,  he  would  see  what  he  could 
do  with  Mr.  Clayford.” 

Great  sensation  in  court. 

” And  your  answer  was — V” 

” None,”  replied  the  Senora.  “1  was  wild  that  he  should  pre- 
sume to  doubt  me;  that  he  should  dare  to  doubt  one,”  and  here  the 
Senora  threw  back  her  veil,  turned  her  tear-stained  face  to  the  court, 
and  exclaimed,  “ to  doubt  one,  who  was  my  affianced  husband!” 

Again  there  was  great  sensation  in  the  court,  and  the  agitation  of 
the  prisoner  was  once  more  manifest 

” And  with  that  you  separated?” 

” Yes,  I drew  my  veil  close  down,  and  hurried  out  of  the  citadel 
as  quickly  as  1 could.” 

” What  made  you  leave  so  quickly?” 

” It  was  getting  close  upon  the  time  that  the  gates  would  close; 
and  1 felt  sure  that  there  was  no  chance  of  meeting  Mr.  Clayford 
that  evening.” 

“You  had,  of  course,  met  him  many  times  before  in  the  same 
place?” 

“ Yes;  or  somewhere  on  the  ramparts.” 

“ You’re  aware.  Miss  Black,  that  Mr.  Skirley  is  also  a pretender 
to  ymur  hand?” 

“ 1 have  been,  of  late,”  replied  the  Senora. 

“ What,  since  Mr.  Clayford’s  death?” 

The  Senora  bowed  her  head  in  assent,  while  a visible  shudder 
seemed  to  pass  through  her  whole  frame. 

“You  had  no  idea  that  he  entertained  these  feelings  for  you  be- 
fore?” 

“ Certainly  not!”  rejoined  the  girl;  “or,”  she  added  contempt- 
uously, “ 1 would  have  given  him  to  understand  how  useless  such 
a feeling  was  on  his  part.” 

“ I have  no  more  questions  to  ask  you,  Miss  Black,”  said  the 
counsel  for  the  crown,  as  he  resumed  his  seat. 

But  if  he  had  not,  Mr.  Blood  had;  and  the  Senora  found  herself 
exposed  to  a maddening  cross-examination,  conducted  in  much 


STEUCK  DOWN. 


10? 


brusquer  fashion  than  that  by  the  counsel  for  the  crown.  Still  il: 
Mr.  Blood  made  the  witness  uncomfortable,  and  made  the  hot- 
tempered  Senora  more  than  once  Dreak  out  in  passionate  protestation 
against  the  questions  she  was  asked,  her  evidence  remained  entirely 
unshaken. 

Ihe  next  witness  was  a man  in  the  employment  of  the  canteen- 
keeper  of  the  citadel.  ' His  testimonj",  though  brief,  was  somewhat- 
important.  He  spoke  positively  to  having  seen  the  prisoner  loung- 
ing in  the  vicinity  of  the  officers’  quarters  after  the  gates  were 
closed.  He  was  perfectly  certain  of  the  identity  of  the  prisoner,  as 
he  spoke  to  him  and  conversed  with  him.  It  was  a bright  moon- 
light night,  and  he  could  see  him  well.  The  prisoner  told  him  he 
had  come  up  to  see  Mr.  Clayford,  and  asked  him  which  were  that 
gentleman’s  quarters.  He  pointed  out  what  he  believed  to  be  such, 
but  was  fain  to  confess  that  he  did  not  know  precisely  the  rooms  of 
the  several  officers.  Did  not  think  there  was  anything  particularly 
strange  about  a sailor  wanting  to  see  Mr.  Clay  ford  at  that  hour. 
Mr.  Clajdord,  he  knew^  was  given  to  the  water,  and  sailors  might 
want  to  see  him  about  fishing  or  sundry  other  things  at  any  time  in 
the  evening.  Had  never  seen  the  prisoner  before. 

Mr.  Pollock  now  stepped  into  the  witness-box.  But  bis  evidence 
was  very  short,  and  of  much  less  importance  than  his  actions  had 
been.  He  spoke  to  being  present  when  the  letters  which  Miss  Black 
had  acknowledged  to  be  hers  were  discovered  by  Mr.  Clayford’s 
brother  in  the  dispatch-box.  Farther,  he  corroborated  Sergeant 
Blane's  evidence  as  to  the  feasibility  of  an  active  man  making  his 
way  out  of  the  citadel  over  the  rampart  and  across  the  ditch;  add- 
ing, that  he  had  himself  performed  that  feat,  in  the  presence  of 
Sergeant  Blane.  The  inspecjtor  said  nothing  about  the  conversation 
he  had  overheard  between  Skirley  and  Marietta,  rightly  judging 
that  what  they  themselves  had  said  in  the  witness-box  required  no 
further  confirmation  on  his  part. 

The  counsel  for  the  crown  now  rose  and  cleverly  reviewed  the 
whole  of  the  evidence  against  the  prisoner.  He  claimed  to  have 
proved  everything  that  he  had  staled  in  his  opening  speech.  “ It  is 
a case,  gentlemen,”  he  said,  in  conclusion,  “which  rests  entirely 
upon  circumstantia\  evidence;  but  you  must  bear  in  mind  that  mur- 
der is  seldom  brought  home  to  the  criminal  in  any  other  light. 
Where  there  are  witnesses  to  man  taking  fhe  life  of  his  fellow  it 
generally  resolves  itself  into  a case  of  manslaughter.  My  case  is 
finished;  and  after  you  have  heard  the  defense,  and  his  lordship’s 
comments  on  Che  case,  it  will  rest  with  you  to  determine  whether 


106 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


this  murder  has  been  rightfully  or  wrongfully  attributed  to  the 
prisoner.’’ 

As  it  was  getting  late  in  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Justice  Shingles  sug- 
gested that  it  might  be  probably  more  convenient  for  all  parties  if 
the  court  was  adjourned  until  to-morrow. 

1 was  about,”  said  Mr.  Floysate,  the  leader  of  the  Western 
Circuit,  who  had  been  retained  by  the  “ skipper’s  parlor  ” for  their 
comrade’s  defense,  “to  beg  your  lordship  to  do  so.  1 have  just 
received  some  information  which  promises  to  be  of  the  greatest  im- 
portance to  my  client,  but  have  as  yet  had  no  opportunity  of  sifting 
it.  By  to-morrow  morning  1 shall  be  quite  ready  to  commence  the 
defense.” 

“ Very  well,  then,”  replied  the  judge,  “ let  it  be  so.  The  court 
is  now  adjourned  till  ten  to-morrow  morning.” 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  VERDICT. 

When  the  court  met  the  next  morning,  the  counsel  for  the  de- 
fense was  in  his  place,  and  rose  immediately. 

“ Gentlemen,”  he  said,  “ you  heard  the  intricate  web  woven 
around  my  client  by  my  learned  brother  yesterday.  It  was  very 
curious  that  such  an  array  of  facts  should  have  grouped  themselves 
together  to  imperil  an  innocent  man.  My  client  has  hitherto  kept 
his  lips  sealed,  and  actually  risked  his  own  life  for  the  sake  of 
shielding  the  lady  to  whom  he  was  attached;  sooner  than  she  should 
be  mixed  up  with  such  a terrible  crime  as  this— sooner  than  she 
should  be  exposed  to  the  odium  of  figuring  in  the  witness-box  and 
be  cross-examined  with  regard  to  her  love  affairs,  he  has,  with  a 
reckless  chivalry,  of  which  perhaps  only  a sailor  could  be  capable, 
risked— it  is  not  too  much  to  say— his  life.  Gentlemen,  all  his 
efforts  have  proved  vain.  The  lady  he  sougnt  to  save  has  been 
dragged  into  the  witness-box,  and,  1 regret  to  say,  that  you  your 
selves  witnessed  yesterday  what  tortures  the  questions,  which  my 
duty  compelled  me  to  ask,  put  her  to.  There  was  no  further  object 
in  silence,  and  for  the  first  time  last  night  we  learned  the  whole 
story  of  that  evening,  as  far  as  Captain  Furness  was  concerned  in 
it.  Bebasnevei  disputed  that  he  was  in  the  citadel  that  night 
He  further  quite  corroborates  Miss  Black’s  evidence  that  he  did  meet 
her  on  the  ramparts,  that  high  words  passed  between  them,  and 
that  as  thej  separated  he  said  that  he  would  settle  with  Mr.  Clay- 


STKUCK  1)0  \VK. 


107 


ford.  After  parting  with  Miss  Black  he  walked  round  the  ramparts 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  citadel,  thoroughly  intending  to  return 
and  see  Mr.  Claytord,  and  warn  him  that  Miss  Black  had  friends 
who  would  take  ample  revenge  for  any  wrong  done  to  her,  and  that 
unless  his  intentions  regarding  her  were  strictly  honorable  the  sooner 
he  ceased  his  attentions  the  better.  Proceeding  round  to  the  front 
or  the  officers'  quarters  he  inquired  ot  the  witness  who  was  yester- 
day before  you  where  the  deceased  officer  lived.  The  witness 
pointed  out  what  he  believed  to  be  Mr.  Qlayford’s  quarters.  He 
went  boldly  iiito  the  passage  and  knocked  at  the  door,  but  not  re- 
ceiving any  answer,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Mr.  Clayford 
bad  not  returned  from  mess,  and  then  resolved  to  obtain  entrance 
to  his  rooms,  and  there  wait  for  him,  even  if  it  were  some  two  or 
three  hours  before  he  returned.  The  range  of  low  houses  which 
constitute  the  officers’  quarters  in  the  citadel  are  lettered  both  at  the 
front  and  back  doors,  instead  of  beine:  numbered,  as  an  ordinary 
terrace  would  be.  My  client  now  went  round  to  the  back  to  see  if 
he  could  obtain  entrance  to  the  house  that  way.  He  found  the 
door  of  the  basement  locked,  but  upon  trying  the  kitchen  window 
he  discovered  that  it  was  unfastened.  To  throw  it  open  and  so  get 
into  the  basement  was  the  easiest  thing  possible.  He  then  ascended 
the  stairs,  hut  only  to  find  Mr.  Clayford ’s  door  locked,  as  he  had 
done  before.  He  was  about  to  give  his  design  up  for  that  night, 
when  the  door  of  the  bedroom  caught  his  eye,  he  tried  that,  and, 
rather  to  his  astonishment,  found  it  unfastened.  He  opened  it,  and 
then  passed  on  to  the  sitting-room,  for  the  two  rooms  communi- 
cated. There,  to  his  horror,  he  found  Lieutenant  Clayford  lying 
dead  upon  the  floor,  and  a discharged  pistol  some  three  or  four 
paces  away  from  him. 

“Now,  gentlenren,”  continued  Mr.  Fioygate,  impressively,  “1 
put  it  to  any  ot  you;  you  have  entered  a room  in  which  you  have 
no  business  or  right  t(»  be;  you  discover  the  sole  tenant  of  that  room 
is  a man  who  has  apparently  come  to  a violent  end.  When  you.  re- 
covered from  the  first  shock  of  the  discovery,  what  would  probably 
be  your  next  feeling?  Dismay  at  the  critical  situation  in  which  your 
own  folly  had  placed  you.  Should  any  one  discover  you  there,  it 
is  obvious  that  the  natural  concl  usion  would  be  that  you  were  the 
assassin.  This  was  the  terrible  situation  in  which  my  client  found 
himself  on  that  July  evening.  He  is  a man,  remember,  accustomed 
to  coixfront  danger,  and  has  known  before  now  what  it  is  to  look 
death  in  the  face,  but  in  all  his  life,  1 will  venture  to  sa}",  he  has 
never  found  himself  in  eo  desperate  a strait  as  this.  He  did  what  1 


108 


STRUCK  DOWN. 


venture  to  supjgest  any  man,  who  did  not  lose  his  head,  would  have 
done  under  the  circumstances.  He  withdrew  promptly  from  the 
scene  ot  the  tragedy,  but,  ere  he  did  so,  he  turned  once  more  to 
3ook  at  the  slain  man.  As  he  did  so,  something  glittering  on  the 
carpet  caught  his  eye.  He  stooped,  picked  it  up,  and  brought  it 
away  with  him,  and  it  is  fortunate  for  him  that  he  did  so,  as  per- 
haps his  very  life  hangs  upon  that  trifling  trinket.  The  man’s 
next  instinct  was  naturally  to  save  himself.  He  was,  as  it  turns 
out,  quite  as  well  acquainted  with  that  egress  from  the  citadel 
which  Sergeant  Blane  has  described  to  you,  and  which  Inspector 
Pollock  seems  to  have  practically  tested,  as  either  of  them.  He  had 
got  out  of  the  citadel  more  than  once  before  in  similar  fashion,  and 
now  in  his  need,  1 need  scarcely  say,  he  made  use  of  it  once  more. 

“ But,  gentlemen,  1 am  not  in  the  least  going  to  conflne  myself 
to  the  mere  statement  ot  a man  accused  ot  a great  crime,  and  to 
which  circumstances  at  all  events  somewhat  tend  to  prove  that  it 
was  likely  he  may  have  committed.  1 have  got  evidence  to  bring 
before  you  that  will,  1 think,  go  far  to  show  that  another  is  very 
much  more  likely  to  have  been  the  real  culprit  than  ray  unfortunate 
client.  ,1  won’t  detain  you  longer.  Mere  talk  will  not  vindicate  the 
prisoner’s  reputation.  1 am  about  to  put  facts  before  you,  and  the 
sooner  I commence  doing  so  the  better.”  And  then  Mr.  Ploygate 
sat  down,  and  the  first  witness  for  the  defense  was  called. 

This  proved  to  be  no  other  than  the  assistant  to  tbe  canteen-keep- 
er, who  had  already  supplied  the  prisoner  with  the  information  as 
to  where  Mr.  Clayford’s  quarters  were,  and  his  evidence  fairly 
startled  tbe  court.  He  swore  that  he  had  known  Mr.  Skirley  under 
the  name  of  Bunker  for  some  weeks,  that  he  was  a friend  of  his 
master’s,  with  whom  he  fancied  he  had  some  business  relations, 
that  he  had  more  than  once  slept  at  their  place,  and  that  he  did  so 
on  the  night  of  the  murder,  leaving  after  the  gates  were  open  in  the 
morning;  that  some  four  weeks  back,  Mr.  Bunker  had  asked  him 
which  were  Mr.  Clayford’s  quarters,  saying  that  he  had  seen  that 
young  gentleman  down  on  the  Barbican,  and  that  he  had  given  him 
a commission  to  procure  him  a few  pounds  of  good  cigars.  Mr. 
Bunker  professed  to  trade  in  those  and  foreign  spirits.  Had  no  idea 
of  his  real  name  or  calling,  until  he  had  seen  him  in  the  witness-box 
yesterday,  and  had  then  hastened  to  give  inforriiation  to  the  police. 

The  next  witness  was  the  canteen-keeper  himself,  who  not  only 
corroborated  all  that  this  bar- man  had  said,  but  further  stated  that 
Skirley,  alias  Bunker,  had  arrived  at  the  canteen  between  five  and 
six  in  the  afternoon,  that  he  had  ha(i  some  refreshment  there.  A>i 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


109 


a little  after  seven  he  announced  bis  intention  of  smoking  a cigar  on 
the  ramparts,  and  did  not  return  till  past  ten,  which  would  be  short- 
ly after  the  muraer  had  been  committed.  Did  not  hear  the  shots 
himself,  but  the  canieen  was  the  opposite  side  the  fortress  from  the 
officers’  quarters.  Had  no  idea  that  Mr.  Bunker  was  a seafaring 
man.  He  never  dressed  the  least  as  such  when  he  visited  him. 
Thought  that  he  was  a sort  of  between  between  some  of  the 
merchant  captains  and  a few  odd  customers  on  shore.  Knew  he 
sold  very  good  wares  at  very  reasonable  prices.  Did  he  suppose 
that  those  cigars  and  spirits  had  paid  duty?  Would  rather  not  an- 
swer that  question,  at  all  events  he  knew  nothing  to  the  contrary. 

“Before  calling  my  next  witnesses,*’  said  Mr„  Fioygate,  “1 
must  now  produce  to  the  court  this  very  peculiar  silver  ring.  It  is, 
as  ycu  will  see,  my  lord,  of  a very  uncommon  pattern/*  and  here 
one  of  ihe  officials  of  the  court  handed  the  bauble  in  question  up  to 
Mr.  Justice  Shingles. 

“ 1 think,  my  lord,  both  yourself  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
when  they  have  examined  it,  will  admit  that  it  is  a ring  of  so  un- 
common a pattern  as  to  make  an  impression  on  most  people  who 
had  once  seen  it.  My  client’s  lips  are  sealed  for  the  present,  gen- 
tlemen, by  the  position  in  which  he  is  placed;  otherwise  he  would 
tell  you  that  he  picked  up  that  ring  from  the  side  of  the  murdered 
man.  Its  very  peculiarity  renders  it  easy  to  identify,  and  1 am 
about  to  call  three  witmsses  who  can  tell  you  who  is  the  owner  of 
that  ring.  1 could  call  half  a dozen  more  if  necessary,  but  1 con- 
ceive that  three  credible  witnesses  are  sufficient  for  my  purpose.” 

And  then,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and  greatly  to  his  astonish- 
ment, Captain  Noreton  found  himself  in  the  witness-box.  Yes,  he 
knew  the  ring  well;  had  seen  it  hundreds  of  times.  Dave  Skirley 
usually  wore  it  round  his  neck  handkerchef. 

John  Black  and  another  habitue  of  the  “ skipper’s  parlor  ” bore 
similar  testimony.  Skirley  had  worn  that  ring  for  some  time.  He 
couldn’t  rightly  say  how  long,  but  for  some  three  or  four  years;  it 
might  be  more. 

The  excitement  of  the  court  was  now  intense;  and  Dave  Skirley, 
who  was  among  the  lookers-on,  felt  beads  of  cold  perspiration  stand 
on  his  brow,  as  he  listened  to  the  damning  evidence  whicli  was  roll- 
ing up  against  him.  He  glanced  uneasily  round  him,  with  the  look 
of  a trapped  wild  beast  in  his  eyes.  He  was  appalled  by  the  fear  of 
being  recognized.  Packed  though  he  was  among  the  crowd  in  the 
body  of  the  court,  already  he  began  to  fancy  faces  were  turned  his 
way.  He  must  maKe  his  way  out  at  all  hazards.  Escape  he  knew 


no 


STRUCK  DOWKe 


was  hopeless,  but  it  would  be  a relief  to  avoid  recognition.  He  / 
turned  to  go,  and  in  an  instant  a policeman  liad  taKen  him  by  the  / 
arm,  and  another  going  in  iront  of  him,  said,  quietly  but  promptly,  > 
“Make  way  please;  the  gentleman  is  taken  ill. “ And  when  he 
found  himself  outside  the  building  he  also  found  himself  in  the  | 
custody  of  the  police. 

“1  have  now,“  continued  Mr.  Floygate,  “another  important  / 
witness  to  bring  before  you,  who,  though  he  yesterday  figured  as  a / 
witness  against  my  client,  has  now  some  valuable  evidence  to  give  in 
his  favor.” 

Inspector  Pollock,  being  sworn,  stated  that  in  consequence  of  the 
information  he  had  received  last  night,  he  had  gone  down  by  the  mail 
train  to  Plymouth  to  bring  up  the  canteen-keeper.  That  while  there! 
he  thought  it  would  be  as  well  to  search  Skirley^s  room  at  the 
Golden  Galleon.  That  he  did  so,  and  the  result  had  been  the  dis*  j 
covery  of  three  cartridges  exactly  corresponding  with  those  found 
in  the  pistol. 

As  Mr  Pollock  left  the  box,  Mr.  Floygate  rose  to  address  the 
jury. 

“ Gentlemen,”  he  said,  “ the  case  against  my  client  rests  entirely 
upon  circumstantial  evidence,  and  though,  as  my  learned  brother 
said  in  his  opening;  speech,  in  the  crime  of  murder  we  generally  ' 
have  to  rely  upon  such,  still  1 would  venture  to  say  that,  awkward 
as  circumstances  looked  against  the  prisoner  at  one  time,  the  evi- 
dence, when  sifted,  comes  to  very  little.  What  has  been  proved 
against  him  amounts  to  this;  He  was  in  tbe  citadel  on  the  night 
of  the  tragedy.  He  met  Miss  Black  upon  the  ramparts,  and 
quarreled  with  her.  He  then  took  a turn  round  the  fortress, 
brooding,  no  doubt,  over  his  wrongs,  and  finally  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  would  see  Mr.  Claytord,  point  out  to  him  that  Miss 
Black  was  a girl  not  in  his  own  station,  and  that  if  his  intentions 
were  not  honorable  concerning  her,  he  had  better  abandon  them,  as 
there  were  those,  foremost  among  whom  was  himself,  who  would 
exact  bitter  reparation  for  any  wrong  done  to  her.  With  this  inten- 
tion, he  makes  his  way  to  the  deceased’s  quarters,  to  which  he  ob- 
tains access  with  considerable  difficulty,  and  finds  himself  face  to  face 
with  a great  crime,  and  picturing  the  terrible  consequences  which 
would  accrue  to  himself  should  he  be  found  there,  that  he  should 
make  his  escape  from  the  citadel  as  soon  as  possible  was  only  nat- 
ural ; he  admits  that  he  did  so  in  the  manner  described  by  Inspector 
Pollock.  But,  on  the  other  l)and,  look  at  the  circumstantial  evi- 
dence against  Dave  Skirlej",  1 am  quite  aware  that  we  are  not  try- 


STRUCK  DOWK. 


Ill 


ing  him,  and  therefore  shall  only  call  your  attention  to  a few  salient 
points  that  testify  to  his  detriment.  Remember  be  acknowledged 
before  you  yesterday,  that  he  had  the  same  reason  tor  detesting  Mr. 
Clayford  that  the  prisoner  had,  and  1 thipk  nobody  that  heard  the 
passionate  burst,  with  which  he  confessed  to  it,  can  doubt  the  truth 
of  his  statement.  He  was  the  author  of  those  anonymous  letters, 
the  object  of  which  was,  no  doubt,  to  embroil  the  prisoner  and  the 
deceased.  He,  some  weeks  back,  endeavored  to  ascertain  which 
were  Mr.  Clayford’s  quarters.  He  was  in  the  citadel  the  whole 
night,  though  at  the  time  of  the  murder  nobody  seems  to  have 
known  his  exact  whereabouts.  A ring,  amply  identified  as  his, 
was  found  by  the  side  of  the  dead  man,  while  three  cartridges  cor- 
responding to  those  found  in  the  pistol  were  discovered  in  his  lodg- 
ings at  Plymouth.  The  balance  of  testimony  seeiUvS  to  me  to  weigh 
heavier  against  Skirley  than  it  does  against  Captain  Furness,  so  that 
it  is  with  the  most  perfect  confidence  1 leave  his  fate  in  your 
hands."'  And  thus  saying,  Mr.  Ploygate  resumed  his  seat. 

{So  convinced  was  the  counsel  for  the  crown  that  they  were  prose- 
cuting the  wrong  man,  that  he  waived  his  right  to  reply,  and  Mr. 
Justice  Shingles  proceeded  to  sum  up,  which  he  did,  very  much  in 
favor  of  the  prisoher;  and  then,  with  a few  words  of  caution,  beg- 
ging them  to  bear  in  mind  that  they  were  trying  John  Furness,  and 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  evidence  against  Skirley,  further  than  it 
went  to  exonerate  the  prisoner,  he  dismissed  them. 

They  were  not  more  than  half  an  hour  out  of  court  before  they 
trooped  back  into  their  box;  and  in  reply  to  the  clerk's  “ Gentlemen 
of  the  jury,  ‘ Guilty  or  not  guilty?" the  foreman  in  clear  tones  de- 
livered the  verdict  of  “Not  Guilty,’"  which  elicited  a burst  of  ap- 
plause that  the  officials  had  some  difficulty  in  suppressing.  Captain 
Noreton,  indeed,  and  one  or  two  other  prominent  members  of  the 
“ skipper’s  parlor,"”  narrowly  escaped  being  taken  into  custody,  on 
account  of  their  noisy  ebullitions  of  satisfaction. 


“DAVE  SKIRLEY’S  DOOM." 

A VERY  few  days,  indeed,  before  that  assize  was  over,  John  Fur* 
ness  and  Dave  Skirley  had  changed  places,  and  it  was  the  latter  who 
now  stood  in  tha  dock  accused  of  the  foul  murder  committed  that 
warm  July  evening.  As  Mi.  Floy  gate  had  said,  the  circumstan- 
tial evidence  was  infinitely  stronger  against  the  present  accused  than 
it  had  ever  been,  against  John  Furness;  very  different,  too,  was  the 
bearing  of  the  two  men  when  brought  to  the  bar.  Whereas  Furness 


112 


STRUCK  DOWlSr. 


had  displayed  a gallant  spirit  of  endurance  under  diflSciilties  mixed 
with  terrible  emotion  when  the  Benora  was  dragged  into  court,  Skir^ 
ley  developed  the  sullen  disposition  of  the  human  tiger  brought  at 
last  to  bay.  Once  again  had  the  hapless  Marietta  to  go  into  the 
witness-box,  and  confess,  while  the  tears  scalded  her  eyes,  to  that 
shameful  scene  in  the  parlor  of  the  Golden  Galleon.  Reluctantly 
did  she  admit  that  Bkirle}^  taking  advantage  of  his  knowledge  of 
lier  relations  with  Clayford,  and  of  her  having  met  Furness  that 
night  in  the  citadel,  had  aitempted  to  extort  a promise  of  marriage 
from  her,  as  a condition  that  she  should  be  by  no  means  mixed  up  m 
the  tragedy.  How  lie  bad  threatened  that,  if  slie  refused  his  request, 
she  should  not  only  be  forced  into  the  witness-box,  but  perhaps  even 
accused  of  having  been  an  accessory  to  the  murder.  By  this,  things 
were  different.  The  Benora,  tor  some  uncalled-for  reason,  had  be- 
come a heroine,  instead  of  merely  a young  woman  who  had  made  a 
woful  mess  of  her  love  affairs.  Tiie  sympathies  of  the  public  were 
with  her,  and  as  a matter  of  course,  popular  feeling  ran  high  against 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar.  As  for  Inspector  Pollock,  irritated  by  his 
first  mistake,  he  was  simply  untiring  in  riveting  the  chain  of  evi- 
dence around  his  whilom  comrade;  and  a good  deal  of  slight  confir- 
matory evidence  did  beget  together  within  the  few  days  that  elapsed 
between  the  acquittal  of  John  Furness  and  the  arraignment  of  David 
Skirley  for  the  willful  murder  of  Charles  Clayford. 

Two  days’  impartial  investigation  resulted  in  overwhelming  evi- 
dence against  the  prisoner.  The  judge,  who  summed  up  most 
conclusively  against  him,  concluded  in  these  w’ords:  “ And,  gentle- 
men, if  in  consideration  of  all  the  evidence  that  has  been  placed  be- 
fore you,  you  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  prisoner  is  guilty,  and 
1 regret  to  say  it  seems  difficult  to  arrive  at  any  other  opinion,  you 
must  bear  in  mind  that  you  had  to  try  and  determine  one  of  the 
most  atrocious  and  dastardly  crimes  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  see 
hiought  before  a court  of  justice.  Not  only  has  the  prisoner  in  his 
infatuation  for  Miss  Black,  whom,  1 am  bound  to  say,  as  far  as  we 
can  see,  never  gave  him  the  faintest  encouragement,  apparently  taken 
the  life  of  one  of  his  rivals,  but  has  actually  entertained  the  revolt- 
ing idea  of  getting  rid  of  his  .second  rival,  John  Furness,  by  allow- 
ing him  to  suffer  for  the  crime  which  he  himself  had  committed.  In 
sliort,  gentlemen,  bear  in  mind,  that  if  after  due  consideration  you 
find  the  prisoner  guilty  of  the  murder  of  the  late  Charles  Clayford, 
he  further  nearly  accomplished  a second  and  still  more  shameful 
murder,  insomuch  as  he  allowed  an  innocent  man  to  be  tried  for  the 
crime  which  he  himself  had  committed.” 


STRUCK  DOWK.  , 


113 


A short  delay,  and  a verdict  of  “ Guilty  was  recorded  against 
David  Skirley,  and  once  more  the  officials  of  Ibe  court  bad  trouble  in 
suppressing  tbe  approval  of  those  boisterous  Devonshire  throats. 
And  then  solemnly  and  impressively  Mr.  Justice  Shingles  passed 
sentence  of  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law. 

Whether  Marietta  and  Jack  Furness  came  together  in  the  sequel 
1 must  leave  my  readers  to  coujecture.  ISo  girl  could  have  tailed 
U)  be  touched  by  the  almost  wild  chivalry  of  a lover  who  had  risked 
his  life  to  save  her  appearance  in  a court  of  law.  Sore  from  all  she 
had  gone  through;  sick  at  heart  from  the  awful  tragedy  in  which 
her  first  love  affair  had  ended,  it  was  hardly  likely  that  Marikta 
would  iist  to  any  man’s  wooing  for  some  time,  let  him  plead  ever 
so  earnestly.  Dut  time  softens  all  things,  and  it  may  be,  in  the 
days  to  come,  she  might  listen  kindly  to  what  Jack  Furness  has  to 
say  to  her. 


THE  BND. 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN 


FIRST  SCENE. 

THE  COTTAGE  OJSF  THE  FRONTIER, 


PREAMBLE 

The  place  is  France. 

The  time  is  autumn,  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy— the 
year  of  the  war  between  France  and  Germany. 

The  persons  are,  Captain  Arnault,  of  the  French  army;  Surgeon 
Surville,  of  the  French  ambulance;  Surgeon  Wetzel,  of  the  German 
army;  Mercy  Merrick,  attached  as  nurse  to  the  French  ambulance; 
and  Grace  Roseberry,  a traveling  lady  on  her  way  to  England. 

o 

CHAPTER  I. 

\ THE  TWO  WOMEN. 

It  was  a dark  night.  The  rain  was  pouring  in  torrents. 

Late  in  the  evening  a skirmishing  party  of  the  French  and  a skir- 
mishing party  of  the  Germans  had  met,  by  accident,  near  the  little 
village  of  Lagrange,  close  to  the  German  frontier.  In  the  struggle 
that  followed  the  French  had  (for  once)  got  the  better  of  the  enemy. 
For  the  time,  at  least,  a few  hundreds  out  of  the  host  of  the  invaders 
had  been  forced  back  over  the  frontier.  It  was  a trifling  affair,  oc- 
curring not  long  after  the  great  German  victory  of  Weissenburg, 
and  the  newspapers  took  little  or  no  notice  of  it. 

Captain  Arnault,  commanding  on  the  French  side,  sat  alone  in 
one  of  the  cottages  of  the  village, . inhabited  by  the  miller  of  the  dis- 


4 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


trict.  The  captain  was  reading,  by  the  light  of  a solitary  tallow 
candle,  some  intercepted  dispatches  taken  from  the  Germans.  He 
had  suffered  the  wood  fire,  scattered  over  the  large  open  grate,  to 
burn  low;  the  red  embers  only  faintly  illuminated  a part  of  the 
room.  On  the  floor  behind  him  lay  some  of  the  miller’s  empty 
sacks.  In  a corner  opposite  to  him  was  the  miller’s  solid  walnut- 
wood  bed.  On  the  walls  all  round  him  were  the  miller’s  colored 
prints,  representing  a happy  mixture  of  devotional  and  domestic  sub- 
jects. A door  of  communication  leading  into  the  kitchen  of  the  cot- 
tage had  been  torn  from  its  hinges,  and  used  to  carry  the  men 
wounded  in  the  skirmish  from  the  field.  They  were  now  comfort- 
ably laid  at  rest  in  the  kitchen,  under  the  care  6f  the  French  sur- 
geon and  the  English  nurse  attached  to  the  ambulance.  A piece  of 
coarse  canvas  screened  the  opening  between  the  two  rooms  in  place 
of  the  door.  A second  door,  leading  from  the  bed-chamber  into  the 
yard,  was  locked;  and  the  wooden  shutter  protecting  the  one  win- 
dow of  the  room  was  carefully  barred.  Sentinels,  doubled  in  num- 
ber, were  placed  at  all  the  outposts.  The  French  commander  had 
neglected  no  precaution  which  could  reasonably  insure  for  himself 
and  for  bis  men  a quiet  and  comfortable  night. 

Still  absorbed  in  his  perusal  of  the  dispatches,  and  now  and  then 
making  notes  of  what  he  read  by  the  help  of  writing  materials  placed 
at  his  side,  Captain  Arnault  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  an 
intruder  in  the  room.  Surgeon  Surville,  entering  from  the  kitchen, 
drew  aside  the  canvas  scteen,  and  approached  the  little  round  table 
at  which  his  superior  officer  was  sitting. 

“ What  is  it?”  said  the  captain,  sharply. 

” A question  to  ask,”  replied  the  surgeon.  “ Are  we  safe  for  the 
night?” 

“ Why  do  you  want  to  know?”  in( mired  the  captain,  suspiciously. 

The  surgeon  pointed  to  the  kitchen,  now  the  hospital  devoted  to 
the  wounded  men. 

“ The  poor  fellows  are  anxious  about  the  next  few  hours,”  he  re- 
plied. ‘‘They  dread  a surprise,  and  they  ask  me  if  there  is  any 
reasonable  hope  of  their  having  one  night’s  rest.  What  do  you  think 
of  the  chances?” 

The  captain  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  surgeon  persisted. 
“ Surely  you  ought  to  know?”  he  said. 

‘‘  I know  that  we  are  in  possession  of  the  village  for  the  present,” 
retorted  Captain  Arnault,  “ and  I know  no  more.  Here  are  the 
papers  of  the  enemy.”  He  held  them  up,  and  shook  them  impa- 
tiently as  he  spoke.  ” They  give  me  no  information  that  I can  rely 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH, 


5 


on.  For  all  I can  tell  to  the  contrary,  the  main  body  of  the  Ger- 
mans, outnumbering  us  ten  to  one,  may  be  nearer  this  cottage  than 
the  main  body  of  the  French.  Draw  your  own  conclusions.  1 have 
nothing  more  to  say.'" 

Having  answered  in  those  discouraging  terms.  Captain  Arnault 
got  on  his  feet,  drew  the  hood  of  his  great  coat  over  his  head,  and 
lit  his  cigar  at  the  candle. 

“ Where  are  you  going?”  asked  the  surgeon. 

“ To  visit  the  outposts.” 

“ Do  you  want  this  room  for  a little  while?” 

“Not  for  some  hours  to  come.  Are  you  thinking  of  moving  any 
of  your  wounded  men  in  here?” 

“I  was  thinking  of  the  English  lady,”  answered  the  surgeon. 
“ The  kitchen  is  not  quite  the  place  for  her.  She  would  be  more 
comfortable  here;  and  the  English  nurse  might  keep  her  company.” 

Caotain  Arnault  smiled,  not  very  pleasantly . “ They  are  two  tine 

women,”  he  said,  “and  Surgeon  Survilie  is  a ladies’  man.  Let 
them  come  in,  if  they  are  rash  enough  to  trust  themselves  here  with 
you.”  He  checked  himself  on  the  point  of  going  out,  and  looked 
back  distrustfully  at  the  lighted  candle.  “ Caution  the  women,”  he 
said  “ to  limit  the  exercise  of  their  curiosity  to  the  inside  of  this 
room.” 

“ What  do  you  mean?” 

The  captain’s  forefinger  pointed  significantly  to  the  closed  win- 
dow-shutter. 

“ Did  you  ever  know  a woman  who  could  resist  looking  out  of 
window?”  he  asked.  “ Dark  as  it  is,  sooner  or  later  these  ladies  of 
yours  will  feel  tempted  to  open  that  shutter.  Tell  them  I don’t  want 
the  light  of  the  candle  to  betray  my  head-quarters  to  the  German 
scouts.  How  is  the  weather?  Still  raining?” 

“ Pouring.” 

“ So  much  the  better.  The  Germans  won’t  see  us.”  With  that 
consolatory  remark  he  unlocked  the  door  leading  into  the  yard,  and 
walked  out. 

The  surgeon  lifted  the  canvas  screen  and  called  into  the  kitchen: 

“ Miss  Merrick,  have  you  time  to  take  a little  rest?” 

“ Plenty  of  time,”  answered  a soft  voice  with  an  underlying  mel- 
ancholy in  it,  plainly  distinguishable  though  it  had  only  spokeR 
three  words. 

“ Come  in,  then,”  continued  the  surgeon,  “ andbringthe  English 
lady  with  you.  Here  is  a quiet  room  all  to  yourselves.” 

He  held  back  the  canvas,  and  the  two  women  appeared. 


0 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


The  nurse  led  the  way— tall,  lithe,  and  graceful— attired  in  her 
uniform  dress  of  neat  black  stud:,  with  plain  linen  collar  and  cuffs, 
and  with  the  scarlet  cross  of  the  Geneva  Convention  embroidered  on 
her  left  shoulder.  Pale  and  sad,  her  expression  and  manner  both 
eloquently  suggestive  of  suppressed  suffering  and  sorrow,  there  was 
an  innate  nobility  in  the  carriage  of  this  woman’s  head,  an  innate 
grandeur  in  the  gaze  of  her  large  gray  eyes  and  in  the  lines  of  her 
finely  proportioned  face,  which  made  her  irresistibly  striking  and 
beautiful,  seen  under  any  circumstances  and  clad  in  any  dress.  Her 
companion,  darker  in  complexion  and  smaller  in  stature,  possessed 
attractions  which  were  quiet  marked  enough  to  account  for  the  sur- 
geon’s polite  anxiety  to  shelter  her  in  the  captain’s  room.  The  com- 
mon consent  of  mankind  would  have  declared  her  to  be  an  unusually 
pretty  woman.  She  wore  the  large  gray  cloak  that  covered  her  from 
head  to  foot  with  a grace  that  lent  its  own  attractions  to  a plain  and 
even  a shabby  article  of  dress.  The  languor  in  her  movements,  and 
the  uncertainty  of  tone  in  her  voice  as  she  thanked  the  surgeon,  sug- 
gested that  she  was  suffering  from  fatigue.  Her  dark  eyes  searched 
the  dimly  lighted  room  timidly,  and  she  held  fast  by  the  nurse’s  arm 
with  the  air  of  a woman  whose  nerves  had  been  severely  shaken  by 
some  recent  alarm. 

You  have  one  thing  to  remember,  ladies,”  said  the  surgeon. 

Beware  of  opening  the  shutter,  for  fear  of  the  light  being  seen 
through  the  window.  For  the  rest,  we  are  free  to  make  ourselves 
as  comfortable  here  as  we  can.  Compose  yourself,  dear  madam,  and 
rely  on  the  protection  of  a Frenchman  who  is  devoted  to  you!”  He 
gallantly  emphasized  his  last  words  by  raising  the  hand  of  the  En- 
glish lady  to  his  lips.  At  the  moment  when  he  kissed  it  the  canvas 
screen  was  again  drawn  aside.  A person  in  the  service  of  the  am- 
bulance appeared,  announcing  that  a bandage  had  slipped,  and  that 
one  of  the  wounded  men  was  to  all  appearance  bleeding  to  death. 
The  surgeon,  submitting  to  destiny  with  the  worst  possible  grace, 
dropped  the  charming  Englishwoman’s  hand,  and  returned  to  his 
duties  in  the  kitchen.  The  two  ladies  were  left  together  in  the 
room. 

“Will  you  take  a chair,  madam?”  asked  the  nurse. 

“ Don’t  call  me  ‘ madam,’  ” returned  the  young  lady,  cordially, 
“ My  name  is  Grace  Roseberry.  What  is  your  name?” 

The  nurse  hesitated.  “ Hot  a pretty  name  like  yours,”  she  said, 
and  hesitated  again.  “ Call  me  * Mercy  Merrick,’  ” she  added,  after 
a moment’s  consideration. 

Had  she  given  an  assumed  nanie?  Y/as  there  some  unhappy 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


7 


celebrity  attached  to  her  own  name?  Miss  Koseberry  did  not  wait 
to  ask  herself  those  questions.  “ How  can  I thank  you/'  she  ex- 
claimed, gratefully,  “for  your  sisterly  kindness  to  a stranger  like 
me?" 

“ 1 have  only  done  my  duty,"  said  Mercy  Merrick,  a little  coldly. 
“ Don’t  speak  of  it." 

“ I must  speak  of  it.  What  a situation  you  found  mein  when  the 
French  soldiers  had  driven  the  Germans  away!  My  traveling  car- 
riage stopped;  the  horses  seized;  I myself  in  a strange  country  at 
night  fall,  robbed  of  m}^  money  and  my  luggage,  and  drenched  to 
the  skin  by  the  pouring  rain!  I am  indebted  to  you  for  shelter  in 
this  place— I am  wearing  your  clothes— I should  have  died  of  the 
fright  and  the  exposure  but  for  you.  What  return  can  1 make  for 
such  services  as  these?" 

Mercy  placed  a chair  for  her  guest  near  the  captain’s  table.,  and 
seated  herself,  at  some  little  distance,  on  an  old  chest  in  a corner  of 
the  room.  “ May  I ask  you  a quest  on?"  she  said,  abruptly. 

“ A hundred  questions,"  cried  Grace,  “ if  you  like."  She  looked 
at  tlie  expiring  fire,  and  at  the  dimly  visible  figure  of  her  companion 
seated  in  the  obscurest  corner  of  the  room.  “ That  wretched  candle 
hardly  gives  any  light,"  she  said,  impatiently.  “It  won’t  last 
much  longer.  Can’t  we  make  the  place  more  cheerful?  Come  out 
of  your  corner.  Call  for  more  wood  and  more  lights." 

Mercy  remained  in  her  corner  and  shook  her  head.  “ Candles 
and  wood  are  scarce  things  here,"  she  answered.  “We  must  be  pa- 
tient, even  if  we  are  left  in  the  dark.  Tell  me,"  she  went  on,  rais- 
ing her  quiet  voice  a little,  “ how  came  you  to  risk  crossing  the 
country  in  war  time?" 

Grace’s  voice  dropped  when  she  answered  the  question.  Grace’s 
momentary  gayety  of  manner  suddenly  left  her.  “I  had  urgent 
reasons,"  she  said,  “ for  returning  to  England." 

“Alone?"  rejoined  the  other.  “Without  any  one  to  protect 
you?" 

Grace’s  head  sank  on  her  bosom.  “ I have  left  my  only  protector 
— my  father — in  the  English  burial-ground  at  Rome,"  she  answered, 
simply.  “ My  mother  died  years  since  in  Canada/’ 

The  shadowy  figure  of  the  nurse  suddenly  changed  its  position 
on  the  chest.  She  had  started  as  the  last  word  passed  Miss  Rose- 
berry’s  lips.  “ Do  you  know  Canada?"  asked  Grace. 

“ Well/’  was  the  brief  answer— reluctantly  given,  short  as  it 
was. 

“ Were  you  ever  near  Fort  Logan?" 


8 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH, 


“ 1 once  lived  within  a few  miles  of  Port  Logan.’* 

“ When?” 

“ Some  time  since.”  With  those  words  Mercy  Merrick  shrank 
back  into  her  corner  and  changed  the  subject.  “ Your  relatives  in 
England  must  be  very  anxious  about  you,”  she  said. 

Grace  sighed.  “ 1 have  no  relatives  in  England.  You  can  hardi  r 
imagine  a person  more  friendless  than  1 am.  We  went  awav  from 
Canada  when  my  father’s  health  failed,  to  try  the  climate  of  Italy, 
by  the  doctor’s  advice.  His  death  has  left  me  not  only  friendless, 
but  poor.”  She  paused,  and  took  a leather  letter-case  from  the 
pocket  of  the  large  gray  cloak  which  the  nurse  had  lent  to  her. 
“My  prospects  in  life,”  she  resumed,  “are  all  contained  in  this 
little  case.  Here  is  the  one  treasure  I contrived  to  conceal  when  I 
was  robbed  of  my  other  things!” 

Mercy  could  just  see  the  letter-case  as  Grace  held  it  up  in  the 
deepening  obscurity  of  the  room.  “ Have  you  got  money  in  it?” 
she  asked. 

“ Ho;  only  a few  family  papers,  and  a letter  from  my  father,  in- 
troducing me  to  an  elderly  lady  in  England— a (jonnection  of  his  by 
marriage,  whom  1 have  never  seen.  The  lady  has  consented  to  re-, 
ceive  me  as  her  companion  and  reader.  If  I don’t  return  to  Eng- 
land soon,  some  other  person  may  get  the  place.” 

“ Have  you  no  other  resource?” 

“None.  My  education  has  been  neglected — we  led  a wildlife 
in  the  far  West.  1 am  quite  unfit  to  go  out  as  a governess.  I am 
absolutely  dependent  on  this  stranger,  who  receives  me  for  my  fa- 
ther’s sake.”  She  put  the  letter-case  back  in  the  pocket  of  her 
cloak,  and  ended  lier  little  narrative  as  unaffectedly  as  she  had  begun 
it.  “ Mine  is  a sad  story,  is  it  not?”  she  said. 

The  voice  of  the  nurse  answered  her  suddenly  and  bitterly  in 
these  strange  words:  “There  are  sadder  stories  than  yours. 
There  are  thousands  of  miserable  women  who  would  ask  for  no 
greater  blessing  than  to  change  places  with  You.” 

Grace  started.  “ What  can  there  possibly  be  to  envy  in  such  a 
lot  as  mine?” 

“ Your  unblemished  character  and  your  prospect  of  being  estab- 
lished honorably  in  a respectable  house.” 

Grace  turned  in  her  chair,  and  looked  wonderingly  into  the  dim 
corner  of  the  room. 

“How  strangely  you  say  that!”  she  exclaimed.  There  was  no 
answer;  the  shadowy  figure  on  the  chest  never  moved.  Grace  rose 
impulsively,  and  drawing  her  chair  after  her,  approached  tba 


THE  KBW  MAGDALEH. 


9 


nurse.  “ Is  there  some  romance  in  your  life?”  she  asked.  “Why 
have  you  sacrificed  yourself  to  the  terrible  duties  which  I find  you 
performing  here?  You  interest  me  indescribably.  Give  me  your 
hand.” 

Mercy  shrank  back,  and  refused  the  offered  hand.  “ Are  we  not 
friends?”  Grace  asked,  in  astonishment. 

” We  can  never  be  friends.” 

” Why  not?” 

The  nurse  was  dumb.  Grace  called  to  mind  the  hesitation  that 
she  had  shown  when  she  had  mentioned  her  name,  and  drew  a new 
conclusion  from  it.  ” Should  I be  guessing  right,”  she  asked, 
eagerly  if  I guessed  you  to  be  some  great  lady  in  disguise?” 

Mercy  laughed  to  herself,  low  and  bitterly.  “I  a great  lady!” 
she  said,  contemptuously.  ‘‘  For  Heaven^s  sake,  let  us  talk  of 
something  else!” 

Grace’s  fcuriosity  was  thoroughly  roused.  She  persisted.  ” Once 
more,”  she  whispered,  persuasively.  “Let  us  be  friends.”  She 
geatly  laid  her  hand  as  she  spoke  on  Mercy’s  shoulder.  Mercy 
roughly  shook  it  off.  There  was  a rudeness  in  the  action  which 
would  have  offended  the  most  patient  woman  living.  Grace  drew 
back  indignantly.  “ Ah!”  she  cried,  “ you  are  cruel.” 

“ I am  kind,”  answered  the  nurse,  speaking  more  sternly  than  ever. 

“ Is  it  kind  to  keep  me  at  a distance?  I have  told  you  my  story.” 
^The  nurse’s  voice  rose  excitedly.  “Don’t  tempt  me  to  speak 
out,”  she  said;  “ you  will  regret  it.” 

Grace  declined  to  accept  the  warning.  “ I have  placed  confidence 
in  you,”  she  went  on.  “It  is  ungenerous  to  lay  me  under  an* 
obligation,  and  then  to  shut  me  out  of  your  confidence  in  return.” 

“ You  have  it?”  said  Mercy  Merrick.  “You  shall  have  it! 
Sit  down  again!”  Grace’s  heart  began  to  quicken  its  beat  in  ex- 
pectation of  the  disclosure  that  was  to  come.  She  drew  her  chair 
closer  to  the  chest  on  which  the  nurse  was  sitting.  With  a firm 
hand  Mercy  put  the  chair  back  to  a distance  from  her.  “Not  so 
near  me!”  she  said,  harshly. 

“ Why  not?” 

“ Not  so  near,”  repeated  the  sternly  resolute  voice.  “ Wait  till 
you  have  heard  what  I have  to  say.”  Grace  obeyed  without  a 
word  more.  There  was  a momentary  silence.  A faint  flash  of  light 
leaped  up  from  the  expiring  candle,  and  showed  Mercy  crouching 
on  the  chest,  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and  her  face  hidden  in 
her  hands.  The  next  instant  the  room  was  buried  in  obscurity 
As  the  darkness  fell  on  the  two  women,  the  nurse  spoke. 


10 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MAGDALEN— IN  MODERN  TIMES. 

‘‘  When  your  mother  was  alive,  were  you  ever  out  with  her  after 
ni^j:htfall  in  the  streets  of  a great  city?’^ 

In  those  extraordinary  terms  Mercy  Merrick  opened  the  confi- 
dential interview  which  Grace  Roseberry  had  forced  on  her.  Grace 
answered,  simply,  “ 1 don’t  understnd  you.” 

“I  will  put  ft  in  another  way,”  said  the  nurse.  Its  unnatural 
hardness  and  sternness  of  tone  passed  away  from  her  voice,  and  its 
native  gentleness  and  sadness  returned,  as  she  made  that  reply. 
‘‘You  read  the  newspapers  like  the  rest  of  the  world,”  she  went 
on;  “have  you  ever  read  of  your  unhappy  fellow  creatures  (the 
starving  outcasts  of  the  population)  whom  Want  has  driven  iat4> 
Sin?” 

Still  wondering,  Grace  answered  that  she  had  read  of  such  things 
often,  in  newspapers  and  in  books. 

“ Have  you  heard— when  those  starving  and  sinning  fellow-creat- 
ures happened  to  be  women— of  Refuges  established  to  protect 
and  reclaim  thena?” 

The  wonder  in  Grace’s  mind  passed  away,  and  a vague  suspicion 
of  something  painful  to  come  took  its  place.  ^ “ These  are  extraor- 
dinary questions,”  she  said,  nervously.  “ What  do  you  mean?” 

“Answer  me,”  the  nurse  insisted.  “Have  you  heard  of  the 
Refuges?  Have  you  heard  ''.he  Women?” 

“Yes.” 

“Move  your  chair  a little  further  away  from  me.”  She 
paused.  Her  voice,  without  losing  its  steadiness,  fell  to  its  lowest 
tones,  “ I was  once  of  those  women,”  she  said,  quietly. 

Grace  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a faint  cry.  She  stood  petrified- 
incapable  of  uttering  a word. 

“ I have  been  in  a Refuge,”  pursued  the  sweet  sad  voice  of  the 
other  woman,  “ / have  been  in  a Prison.  Do  you  still  wish  to  be 
my  friend?  Do  you  still  insist  on  sitting  close  by  me  and  taking 
my  hand?”  She  waited  for  a reply,  and  no  reply  came.  “You* 
see  you  were  wrong,”  she  went  on,  gently,  “ when  you  called  me 
cruel — and  1 was  right  when  I told  you  I was  kind.” 

At  that  appeal  Grace  composed  herself,  and  spoke.  “ I don’t  wish 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEX. 


11 


to  offend  you—”  she  began,  confusedly.  Mercy  Merrick  stopped 
here  there. 

“ You  don't  offend  me,"  she  said,  without  the  faintest  note  of 
displeasure  in  her  tone.  1 am  accustomed  to  stand  in  the  pillory 
of  my  own  past  life.  I sometimes  ask  myself  if  it  was  all  my  fault. 
1 sometimes  wonder  if  Society  had  no  duties  toward  me  when  1 
was  a child  selling  matches  in  the  street— when  I was  a hard-  work- 
ing girl  fainting  at  my  needle  for  want  of  food."  Her  voice  fal- 
tered a little  for  the  first  time  as  it  pronounced  those  words;  she 
waited  a moment,  and  recovered  herself.  '‘It’s  too  late  to  dwell  on 
these  things  now,"  she  said,  resignedly.  “ Society  can  subscribe 
to  reclaim  me;  but  Society  can’t  take  me  back.  You  see  me  here 
in  a place  of  trust— patiently,  humbly,  doing  all  the  good  I can. 
It  doesn’t  matter!  Here,  or  elsewhere,  what  lam  can  never  alter 
what  1 was.  For  three  years  past  all  that  a sincerely  penitent  woman 
can  do  I have  done.  It  doesn’t  matter!  Once  let  my  past  story  be 
known,  and  the  shadow  of  it  covers  me;  the  kindest  people  shrink." 

She  waited  again.  Would  a word  of  sympathy  come  to  comfort 
her  from  the  other  woman’s  lips?  No!  Miss  Roseberry  was 
shocked;  Miss  Roseberry  was  confused.  “I  am  very  sorry  for 
you,"  was  all  that  Miss  Roseberry  could  say. 

Everybody  is  sorry  for  me,"  answered  the  nurse,  as  patiently 
as  ever  : " everybody  is  kind  to  me.  But  the  lost  place  is  not  to  be 
regained.  I can’t  get  back!  I can’t  get  back!"  she  cried,  with  a 
passionate  outburst  of  despair — checked  instantly  the  moment  it  had 
escaped  her.  “ Shall  I tell  you  what  my  experience  has  been?"  she 
resumed.  “ Will  you  hear  the  story  of  Magadalen — in  modern 
times?" 

Grace  drew  back  a step ; Mercy  instantly  understood  her. 

“lam  going  to  tell  you  nothing  that  you  need  shrink  from  hear- 
ing," she  said.  “A  lady  in  your  position  would  not  understand 
the  trials  and  the  struggles  that  I have  passed  through.  My  story 
shall  begin  at  the  Refuge.  The  matron  sent  me  oat  to  service  with 
the  character  that  I had  honestly  earned — the  character  of  a re- 
claimed woman.  I justified  the  confidence  placed  in  me ; I was  a faith- 
ful servant.  One  day  my  mistress  sent  for  me — a kind  mistress,  if  ever 
there  was  one  yet.  ‘ Mercy,  1 am  sorry  for  you ; it  has  come  out 
that  I took  you  from  a Refuge;  I shall  lose  every  servant  in  the 
house ; you  must  go.  ’ 1 went  back  to  the  matron — another  kind 

woman.  She  received  me  like  a mother.  ‘ We  will  try  again, 
Mercy;  don’t  be  cast  down.’  1 told  you  I had  been  in  Canada?" 

Grace  began  to  feel  intcu  p.'^  ! in  spite  of  herself.  She  answered 


12 


THE  HEW  MAGDA LEH. 


wth  something  like  warmth  in  her  tone.  She  returned  to  her  chair 
—placed  at  its  safe  and  significant  distance  from  the  chest.  The 
nurse  went  on : 

“ My  next  place  was  in  Cahada,  with  an  ofidcer's  wife ; gentle- 
folks who  had  emigrated.  More  kindness;  and,  this  time,  a pleasant 
peaceful  life  for  me.  I said  to  myself,  ‘ Is  the  lost  place  regained? 
Have  I got  back?  My  mistress  died.  New  people  came  into  our 
neighborhood.  There  was  a young  lady  among  them — my  master 
began  to  think  of  another  wife.  I have  the  misfortune  (in  my  situ- 
ation), to  be  what  is  called  a handsome  woman;  I rouse  the  curios- 
ity of  strangers.  The  new  people  asked  questions  about  me;  my 
master’s  answers  did  not  satisfy  them.  In  a word,  they  found  me 
out.  The  old  stor}''  again!  ‘Mercy,!  am  very  sorry;  scandal  is 
busy  with  you  and  with  me;  we  are  innocent,  but  there  is  no  help 
for  it— we  must  part.’  I left  the  place  having  gained  one  advantage 
during  my  stay  in  Canada,  which  1 find  of  use  to  me  here.” 

“ What  is  it?” 

“ Our  nearest  neighbors  were  French  Canadians.  I learned  to 
speak  the  French  language.” 

“ Did  you  return  to  London?  ’ 

“ Where  else  could  I go  without  a character?”  said  Mercy,  sad- 
ly. “1  went  back  again  to  the  matron.  Sickness  had  broken  out 
in  the  Refuge.  I made  myself  useful  as  a nurse.  One  of  the  doc- 
tors was  strqck  with  me — ‘ fell  in  love  ’ with  me,  as  the  phrase  is. 
He  would  have  married  me.  The  nurse,  as  an  honest  woman,  was 
bound  to  tell  him  the  truth.  He  never  appeared  again.  The  old 
story!  I began  to  weary  of  saying  to  myself,  * I can’t  get  back!  I 
can’t  get  back!’  Despair  got  hold  of  me,  the  despair  that  hardens 
the  heart.  I might  have  committed  suicide;  I might  even  have  drift- 
ed back  into  my  old  life — but  for  one  man.” 

At  those  last  words,  her  voice— quiet  and  even  through  the  earlier 
parts  of  her  sad  story — began  to  falter  once  more.  She  stopped, 
following  silently  the  memories  and  associations  roused  in  her  by 
what  she  had  just  said.  Had  she  forgotten  the  presence  of  another 
person  in  the  room?  Grace’s  curiosity  left  Grace  no  resource  but 
to  say  a word  on  her  side. 

“ Who  was  the  man?”  she  asked,  “ How  did  he  befriend  you?” 

“ Befriend  me?  He  doesn’t  even  know  that  such  a person  as  I 
am  is  in  existence.” 

That  strange  answer,  naturally  enough,  only  strengthened  the 
anxiety  of  Grace  to  hear  more.  “ You  said  just  now—”  she  began. 

1 said  just  now  that  he  saved  me.  He  did  save  me;  you  shall 


THE  HEW  MAGBALEH. 


13 


hoar  how.  One  Sunday  our  regular  clergyman  at  the  Kefuge  was 
not  able  to  officiate.  His  place  was  taken  by  a stranger,  quite  a 
young  man.  The  matron  told  us  the  stranger’s  name  was  Julian 
Gray.  1 sat  in  the  back  row  of  seats,  under  the  shadow  of  the  gal- 
lery, where  I could  see  him  without  his  seeing  me.  His  text  was 
from  the  words,  ‘ Joy  shall  be  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  re- 
})enteth,  more  tlian  over  ninety  and  nine  just  persons,  which  need 
•u)  repentance.’  What  happier  women  might  have  thought  of  his 
srrmon  I cannot  say;  there  was  not  a dry  eye  among  us  at  the  Ref- 
uiie.  As  for  me,  he  touched  my  heart  as  no  man  has  touched  it  be- 
fore or  since.  The  hard  despair  melted  in  me  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice;  the  weary  round  of  my  life  showed  its  nobler  side  again 
wffiile  he  spoke.  From  that  time  I have  accepted  my  hard  lot,  I 
have  been  a patient  woman.,  I might  have  been  something  more,  I 
might  have  be^m  a happy  woman,  if  I could  have  prevailed  on  my- 
self to  speak  to  Julian  Gray.” 

‘‘  What  hindered  you  from  speaking  to  him?” 

“ 1 was  afraid.” 

” Afraid  of  what?” 

Afraid  of  making  my  hard  life  harder  still.” 

A woman  who  could  have  sympathized  with  her  would  perhaps 
have  guessed  wdiat  those  words  meant.  Grace  was  simply  embar- 
rassed by  her;  and  Grace  failed  to  guess. 

1 don’t  understand  you,”  she  said. 

There  was  no  alternative  for  Mercy  but  to  own  the  truth  in  plain 
words.  She  sighed,  and  said  the  words;  “ 1 was  afraid  I might 
interest  him  in  m}^  sorrows,  and  might  set  my  heart  on  him  in  re- 
turn.” The  utter  absence  of  any  fellow-feeling  with  her  on  Grace’s 
side  expressed  itself  unconsciously  in  the  plainest  terms. 

“You!”  she  exclaimed,  in  a tone  of  blank  astonishment.  The 
nurse  rose  slowly  to  her  feet.  Grace’s  expression  of  surprise  told 
lier  plairdy — almost  brutally — that  her  confession  had  gone  far 
enough. 

“ I astonish  you?”  she  said.  “ Ah,  my  young  lady,  you  don’t 
know  what  rough  usage  a woman’s  heart  can  bear,  and  still  beat 
truly!  Before  1 saw  Julian  Gray  1 only  knew  men  as  objects  of 
horror  to  me.  Let  us  drop  the  subject.  The  preacher  at  the  Refuge 
is  nothing  but  a remembrance  now — the  one  welcome  remembrance 
of  my  life!  I have  nothing  more  to  tell  you.  You  insisted  on  hear- 
ing my  story— you  have  heard  it.” 

“ I have  not  heard  how  you  found  employment  here,”  said  Grace, 
continuing  the  conversation  with  uneasy  politeness,  as  she  best 


14 


THE  ]^EW  MAGHALEE-. 


iniffAt.  Mercy  crossed  the  room,  and  slowly  raked  together  the  last 
Hiring  embers  of  the  fire.  “ The  matron  has  friends  in  France/’ 
she  answered,  “ who  are  connected  with  the  mOitary  hospitals.  It 
was  not  difficult  to  get  me  the  place,  under  those  circumstances. 
Society  can  find  a use  for  me  here.  My  hand  is  as  light,  my  words 
of  comfort  are  as  welcome,  among  those  suffering  wrelches  ” (she 
pointed  to  the  room  in  which  the^wounded  men  were  lying)  ''  as  if 
I was  the  most  reputable  woman  breathing.  And  if  a stray  shot 
comes  my  way  before  the  war  is  over— well!  Society  will  be  rid  of 
me  on  easf  terms.” 

She  stood  looking  thoughtfully  into  the  wreck  of  the  fire — as  if 
she  saw  in  it  the  wreck  of  her  own  life.  Common  humanity  made 
it  an  act  of  necessity  to  say  something  to  her.  Grace  considered — 
advanced  a step  toward  her — stopped— and  took  refuge  in  the  most 
trivial  of  all  the  common  phrases  which  one  human  being  can  ad- 
dress to  another. 

“ If  there  is  anything  I can  do  for  you  she  began.  The  sen- 
tence, halting  there,  was  never  finished.  Miss  Roseberry  was  just 
merciful  enough  toward  the  lost  woman  who  had  rescued  and  shel- 
tered her  to  feel  that  it  was  needless  to  say  more. 

The  nurse  lifted  her  noble  head  and  advanced  slowly  toward  the 
canvas  screen  to  return  to  her  duties.  Miss  Roseberry  might  have, 
taken  my  hand!”  she  thought  to  herself,  bitterly.  '‘No!  Miss 
Roseberry  stood  there  at  a distance,  at  a loss  wffiat  to  sa.y  next., 
‘‘What  can  you  do  for  me?”  Mercy  asked,  stung  by  the  cold 
couitesy  of  her  companion  into  a momentary  outbreak  of  contempt. 
‘‘  Can  you  change  my  identity?  Can  you  give  me  the  name  and  the 
place  of  an  innocent  woman  ? If  I only  had  your  chance ! If  I only 
had  your  reputation  and  your  prospects!”  She  laid  one  hand  over 
her  bosom,  and  controlled  herself.  “Stay  here,”  she  resumed, 
“ while  I go  hack  to  my  work.  I will  see  that  your  clothes  are 

ied  You  shall  wear  my  clothes  as  short  a time  as  possible.” 

YvMth  those  melancholy  words — touchingly,  not  bitterly  spoken 
— she  moved  to  pass  into  the  kitchen,  when  she  noticed  that  the 
pattering  sound  of  the  rain  against  the  windows  was  audible  no 
more.  Dropping  the  canvas  for  the  moment,  she  retraced  her 
steps,  and,  unfastening  the  wooden  shutter,  looked  out.  The  moon 
was  rising  dimly  in  the  watery  sky;  the  rain  had  ceased;  the 
friendly  darkness  which  had  hidden  the  French  position  from  the 
Gennan  scouts  was  lessening  every  moment.  In  a few  hours  more 
(if  nothing  happened)  the  English  lady  might  Besuine  her  journey. 
In  a few  hours  more  the  morniniy  would  dawn.  Mercy  lifted  her 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


15 


band  to  ^ose  the  shutter.  Before  she  could  fasten  it  the  report  of 
a riflC'  shot  reached  the  cottage  from  one  of  the  distant  posts.  It 
was  followed  almost  instantly  by  a second  report,  nearer  and  louder 
than  the  first.  Mercy  paused,  with  the  shutter  in  her  hand,  and 
listened  intently  for  the  next  sound. 


CHAPTER  111. 

THE  GERMAN  SHELL. 

A “third  rifle-shot  rang  through  the  night  air,  close  to  the  cot 
tage.  Grace  started  and  approached  the  window  in  alarm. 

What  does  that  firing  mean?’^  she  asked. 

“ Signals  from  the  outposts,”  the  nur.se quietly  replied. 

“ Is  there  any  danger?  Have  the  Germans  come  back?” 

Surgeon  Surville  answered  the  question.  He  lifted  the  canvas 
screen,  and  looked  into  the  room  as  Miss  Roseberry  spoke.  The 
Germans  are  advancing  on  us,”  he  said.  ‘‘ Their  van-guard  is  in 
sight.” 

Grace  sank  on  the  ch;»ir  near  her,  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 
Mercy  advanced  to  the  surgeon,  and  put  the  decisive  question  to 
him. 

” Do  we  defend  the  position?”  she  inquired. 

Surgeon  Surville  ominously  shook  his  head. 

” Impossible!  We  are  outnumbered  as  usual — ten  to  one.” 

The  shrill  roll  of  the  French  drums  was  heard  outside. 

There  is  the  retreat  sounded!”  said  the  surgeon.  “ The  captain 
is  not  a man  to  think  twice  about  what  he  does.  We  are  left  to  take 
care  of  ourselves.  In  five  minutes  we  must  be  out  of  this  place.” 

A volley  of  rifle-shots  rang  out  as  he  spoke.  The  German  van- 
guard was  attacking  the  French  at  the  outposts.  Grace  caught 
the  surgeon  entreatingly  by  the  arm.  “ Take  me  with  you,”  she 
cried.  ” Oh,  sir,  I have  suffered  from  the  Germans  already!  Don’t 
forsake  me,  if  they  come  back!”  The  surgeon  was  equal  to  the 
occasion;  he  placed  the  hand  of  the  pretty  Englishwoman  on  his 
breast.  “Fear  nothing,  madam,”  he  said,  looking  as  if  he  could 
have  annihilated  the  whole  German  force  with  his  own  invincible 
arm.  “ A Frenchman’s  heart  beats  under  your  hand.  A French- 
man’s devotion  protects  you.”  Grace’s  head  sank  on  his  shoulder. 
Monsieur  Surville  felt  that  he  had  asserted  himself;  he  looked  round 
invitingly  at  Mercy.  She,  too,  was  an  attractive  woman.  The 
Frenchman  had  another  shoulder  at  service.  Unhappily  the 


16 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


room  was  dark — the  look  was  l;)st  on  Mercy.  She  was  thinking  of 
the  helpless  men  in  tlie  inner  chamber,  and  she  quietly  recalled  the 
surgeon  to  a sense  of  his  prcd'es.'sional  duties. 

What  is  to  become  of  tlie  sick  and  wouuded?''  she  asked. 

Monsieur  Surville  shrugged  one  shoulder — the  shoulder  that  was 
free.  “ The  strongest  among  them  we  can  take  away  with  us/'  he 
said.  ‘‘  The  others  must  be  left  here.  Fear  nothing  for  yourself, 
dear  lady.  There  will  be  a place  for  you  in  the  baggage- wagon." 

“ And  for  me,  too?"  Grace  pleaded  eagerly. 

The  surgeon's  invincible  arm  stole  round  the  young  lady's  waist, 
and  answered  mutely  with  a squeeze. 

Take  her  with  you,"  said  Mercy.  '‘„My  place  is  with  the  men 
whom  you  leave  behind." 

Grace  listened  in  amazement.  “ Think  what  you  risk,"  she  said, 
" if  you  stop  here  " 

Mercy  pointed  to  her  left  shoulder. 

“ Don't  alarm  yourself  on  my  account,"  she  answered;  “ the  red 
cross  will  protect  me." 

Another  roll  of  the  drum  warned  the  susceptible  surgeon  to  take 
his  place  as  director-general  of  the  ambulance  without  any  further 
delay.  He  conducted  Grace  a chair,  and  placed  both  her  hands 
on  his  heart  this  time,  to  reconcile  her  to  the  misfortune  of  his  ab- 
sence. “Wait  here  till  I return  for  you,"  he  whispered  “Fear 
nothing,  my  charming  friend.  Say  to  yourself,  ' Surville  is  the 
soul  of  honor!  Surville  is  devoted  to  me!’  " He  struck  his  breast; 
he  again  forgot  the  obscurity  in  the  room,  and  cast  one  look  of  un- 
utterable homage  at  his  charming  friend.  “A  Uentot!^^  he  cried, 
and  kissed  his  hand  and  disappeared. 

As  the  canvas  screen  fell  over  him  the  sharp  report  of  the  rifle-fir- 
ing was  suddenly  and  grandly  dominated  by  the  roar  of  cannon. 
The  instant  after  a shell  exploded  in  the  garden  outside,  within  a 
few  yards  of  the  window. 

Grace  sank  on  her  knees  with  a shriek  of  terror.  Mercy,  without 
losing  her  self-possession,  advanced  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

“ The  moon  has  risen,"  she  said.  “ The  Germans  are  shelling  the 
village." 

Grace  rose,  and  ran  to  her  for  protection. 

“Take  me  awayl"  she  cried.  “ We  shall  be  killed  if  we  stay 
here.  " She  stopped,  looking  in  astonishment  at  the  tall  black  figure 
of  the  nurse,  standing  immovable  by  the  window.  “ Are  you  made 
of  iron?"  she  exclaimed.  “ AYill  nothing  frighten  you?" 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN.  I'J 

Morey  smiled  sadly.  Why  should  I be  afraid  of  losing  my 
life?’'  she  answered.  “ I have  nothing  worth  living  for!” 

The  roar  of  the  cannon  shook  the  cottage  for  the  second  lime.  A 
second  shell  exploded  in  the  court- yard,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
building.  Bewildered  by  the  noise,  panic-stricken  as  the  danger 
from  the  shells  threatened  the  cottage  more  and  more  nearly,  Grace 
threw  her  arms  round  the  nurse,  and  clung,  in  the  abject  familiarity 
of  terror,  to  the  woman  whose  hand  she  had  shrunk  from  touchimr 
not  five  minutes  since,  “ Where  is  the  safest?”  she  cried.  Where 
can  I hide  myself?” 

“ How  can  I tell  where  the  next  shell  will  fall?”  Mercy  answered, 
quietly. 

The  steady  composure  of  the  one  woman  seemed  to  madden  the 
other.  Releasing  the  nurse,  Grace  looked  wildly  round  for  a way 
of  escape  from  the  cottage.  Making  first  for  the  kitchen,  she  was 
driven  back  by  the  clamor  and  confusion  attending  the  removal  of 
those  among  the  wounded  who  were  strong  enough  to  be  placed  in 
the  wagon.  A second  look  round  showed  her  the  door  leading  into 
the  yard.  She  rushed  to  it  with  a cry  of  relief.  She  had  just  laid 
her  hand  on  the  lock  when  the  third  report  of  cannon  burst  over  the 
place. 

Starting  back  a step,  Grace  lifted  her  hands  mechanically  to  her 
ears.  At  the  same  moment  the  third  shell  broke  through  the  roof 
of  the  cottage,  and  exploded  in  the  room,  just  inside  the  door. 
Mercy  sprang  forward,  unhurt,  from  her  place  at  the  window. 
The  burning  fragments  of  the  shell  were  already  firing  the  dry 
wooden  fioor,  and  in  the  midst  of  them,  dimly  seen  through  the 
smoke,  lay  the  insensible  body  of  her  companion  in  the  room.  Even 
at  that  dreadful  moment  the  nurse's  presence  of  mind  did  not  fail 
her.  Hurrying  back  to  the  place  that  she  had  just  left,  near  wdiich 
she  had  already  noliced  the  miller’s  empty  sacks  lying  in  a heap, 
she  seized  two  of  them,  and,  throwing  them  on  the  smoldering 
floor,  trampled  out  the  fire.  That  done,  she  knelt  by  the  senseless 
woman,  and  lifted  her  head. 

Was  she  wounded?  or  dead?  Mercy  raised  one  helpless  hand, 
and  laid  her  fingers  on  the  wrist.  While  she  was  still  vainly  trying 
to  feel  for  the  beating  of  the  pulse.  Surgeon  Surville  (alarmed  for 
the  ladies)  hurried  in  to  inquire  if  any  harm  had  been  done. 

Mercy  called  to  him  to  approach.  ” I am  afraid  the  shell  has 
struck  her,”  she  said,  yielding  her  place  to  him.  “ See  if  she  is 
badly  hurt.’*  The  surgeon’s  anxiety  for  his  charming  patient  exv 
pressed  itself  briefly  in  an  oath,  with  a prodigious  emphasis  laid  on 


18 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


one  of  the  letters  in  it — the  letter  R.  “Takeoff  her  cloak/*  he 
cried,  raising  his  hand  to  her  neck.  “ Poor  angel!  She  has  turned 
in  falling;  the  string  is  twisted  round  her  throat.’* 

Mercy  removed  the  cloak.  It  dropped  on  the  floor  as  the  surgeon 
lifted  Grace  in  his  arms.  “Gel  a candle,”  he  said,  impatiently; 
“ tliey  will  give  you  one  in  the  kitchen.”  He  tried  to  feel  the 
pulse;  his  hand  trembled,  the  noise  and  confusion  in  the  kitchen 
bewildered  him.  “Just  Heaven!”  he  exclaimed.  “ My  emotions 
overpower  me!”  Mercy  approached  him  with  the  candle.  The 
light  disclosed  the  frightful  injury  which  a fragment  of  the  shell 
had  inflicted  on  the  Englishwoman’s  head.  Surgeon  Surville’s 
manner  altered  on  the  instant.  The  expression  of  anxiety  left  his 
face;  its  professional  composure  covered  it  suddenly  like  a mask. 
What  was  the  object  of  his  admiration  now?  An  inert  burden  in 
his  arms — nothing  more. 

The  change  in  his  face  was  not  lost  on  Mercy.  Her  large  gray 
eyes  watched  him  attentively.  “ Is  the  lady  seriously  wounded?” 
she  asked. 

“ Don’t  Irouble  yourself  to  hold  the  light  any  longer,”  was  the 
ctiol  reply.  “ It’s  all  over — I can  do  nothing  for  her.”' 

“ Dead?” 

Surgeon  Surville  nodded,  and  shook  his  fist  in  the  direction  of  the 
outposts.  “ Accursed  Germans!”  he  cried,  and  looked  down  at  the 
dead  face  on  his  arm,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  resignedly.  “ The 
fortune  of  war!”  he  said,  as  he  lifted  the  body  and  placed  it  on  the 
bed  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  “ Next  time,  nurse,  it  may  be  you 
or  me.  Who  knows?  Bah!  the  problem  of  human  destiny  dis- 
gusts me.”  He  turned  from  the  bed,  and  illustrated  his  disgust  by 
spitting  on  the  fragments  of  the  exploded  shell.  “ We  must  leave 
her  there,”  he  resumed,  “She  was  once  a charming  person— she 
is  nothing  now.  Come  away.  Miss  Mercy,  before  it  is  too  late.” 

He  offered  his  arm  to  the  nurse ; the  creaking  of  the  baggage-wagon, 
starting  on  its  journey,  was  heard  outside,  and  the  shrill  roll  of  the 
tlrums  was  renewed  in  the  distance.  The  retreat  had  begun. 

Mercy  drew  aside  the  canvas,  and  saw  the  badly  wounded  men» 
left  helpless  at  the  mercy  of  the  enemy,  on  their  straw  beds  She 
refused  the  offer  of  Monsieur  Surville’s  arm. 

“ I have  already  told  you  that  I shall  stay  here,”  she  answered.’ 

Monsieur, Surville  lifted  his  hands  in  polite  remonstrance.  Mercy 
held  back  the  curtain,  and  pointed  to  the  cottage  door. 

“ Go,”  she  said.  “ My  mind  is  made  up.” 

Even  at  that  final  moment  the  Frenchman  asserted  himself.  He 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


19 


made  his  exit  with  unimpaired  grace  and  dignity.  ‘‘  Madam/*  he 
said,  “ you  are  sublime!”  With  that  parting  compliment  the  man 
of  gallantry— true  to  the  last  to  his  admiration  of  the  sex — bowed, 
with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  left  the  cottage.  Mercy  dropped  the 
canvas  over  the  doorway.  She  was  alone  with  the  dead  woman. 

The  last  tramp  of  footsteps,  the  last  rumbling  of  the  wagon 
wheels,  died  away  in  the  distance.  No  renewal  of  firing  from  the 
position  occupied  by  the  enemy  disturbed  the  silence  that  followed. 
The  Germans  knew  that  the  French  were  in  retreat.  A few  min- 
utes more  and  they  would  tiike  possession  of  the  abandoned  village; 
the  tumult  of  their  approach  would  become  audible  at  the  cottage. 
In  the  meantime  the  stillness  w^as  terrible.  Even  the  wounded 
wretches  who  were  left  in  the  kitchen  waited  their  fate  in  silence. 
Alone  in  the  room,  Mercy’s  first  look  was  directed  to  the  bed. 

The  two  women  had  met  in  the  confusion  of  the  first  skirmish  at 
the  close  of  twilight.  Separated,  on  their  arrival  at  the  cottage,  by 
the  duties  required  of  the  nurse,  they  had  only  met  again  in  the 
captain’s  room.  The  acquaintance  between  them  had  been  a short 
one;  and  it  had  given  no  promise  of  ripening  into  friendship.  But 
the  fatal  accident  had  roused  Mercy’s  interest  in  the  stranger.  She 
took  the  candle,  and  approached  the  corpse  of  the  woman  who  had 
teen  literally  killed  at  her  side. 

She  stood  by  the  bed,  looking  down  in  the  silence  of  the  night  at 
the  stillness  of  the  dead  face. 

It  was  a striking  face — once  seen  (in  life  or  in  death)  not  to  be  for- 
gotten afterward.  The  forehead  was  unusually  low  and  broad;  the 
eyes  unusually  far  apart;  the  mouth  and  chin  remarkably  small. 
With  tender  hands  Mercy  smoothed  the  disheveled  hair  and  arranged 
the  crumpled  dress.  “Not  five  minutes  since,”  she  thought  to  her- 
self, “ I was  longing  to  change  places  with  yoio  She  turned  from 
the  bed  with  a sigh.  “ I wish  I could  change  places  now!”  The 
silence  began  to  oppress  her.  She  walked  slowly  to  the  other  end 
of  the  room. 

The  cloak  on  the  fioor — her  own  cloak,  which  she  had  lent  to 
Miss  Koseberry — attracted  her  attention  as  she  passed  it.  She 
picked  it  up  and  brushed  the  dust  from  it,  and  laid  it  across  a chair. 
This  done,  she  put  the  light  back  on  the  table,  and  going  to  the  win- 
dow, listened  for  the  first  sounds  of  the  German  advance.  The  faint 
passage  of  the  wind  through  some  trees  near  at  hand  was  the  only 
sound  that  caught  her  ears.  She  turned  from  the  window,  and 
seated  herself  at  the  table,  thinking.  Was  there  any  duty  still  left 
undone  that  Christian  charity  owed  to  the  dead?  Was  there  any 


30 


THE  HEW  WAGDALEH. 


further  service  tliat  pressed  for  performance  in  the  interval  before 
the  Germans  appeared? 

Mercy  recalled  the  conversation  that  had  passed  between  her  ill- 
fated  companion  and  herself.  Miss  Roseberry  had  spoken  of  her 
object  in  returning  to  England.  She  had  mentioned  a Vdcly — a connec- 
lion  by  marriage,  to  whom  she  was  personally  a stranger — who  was 
waiting  to  receive  her.  Some  one  capable  of  stating  how  the  poor 
creature  liad  met  with  her  death  ought  to  write  to  her  only  friend. 
Who  was  to  do  it?  There  was  nobody  to  do  it  but,  the  one  witness 
of  the  catastrophe  now  left  in  the  cottage — Mercy  herself. 

She  lifted  the  cloak  from  the  chair  on  which  she  had  placed  it, 
and  took  from  the  pocket  the  leather  letter-case  which  Grace  had 
shown  to  her.  The  only  way  of  discovering  the  address  to  write  to 
in  England  was  to  open  the  case  and  examine  the  papers  inside. 
Mercy  opened  the  case— -and  stopped,  feeling  a strange  reluctance 
to  carry  the  investigation  any  further.  A moment’s  consideration 
satisfied  her  that  her  scruples  were  misplaced.  If  slie  respected  the 
case  as  inviolable,  the  Germans  would  certainly  not  hesitate  to  ex- 
amine it,  and  the  Germans  would  hardly  trouble  themselves  to 
write  to  England.  Which  were  the  fittest  eyes  to  inspect  the  papers 
of  the  deceased  lady — the  eyes  of  men  and  foreigners,  or  the  eyes  of 
her  own  country-woman?  Mercy’s  hesitation  left  her.  She  emptied 
the  contents  of  the  case  on  the  table. 

That  trifling  action  decided  the  whole  future  course  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

Some  letters,  tied  together  with  a ribbon,  attracted  Mercy’s  atten- 
tion first.  The  ink  in  which  the  addresses  were  written  had  faded 
with  age.  The  letters,  directed  alternately  to  Colonel  Roseberry  and 
to  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Roseberry,  contained  a correspondence  be- 
tween the  husband  and  wife  af  a time  when  the  Colonel’s  military 
duties  had  obliged  him  to  be  absent  from  home.  Mercy  tied  the  let- 
ters up  again,  and  passed  on  to  the  papers  that  lay  next  in  order 
under  her  hand. 

These  consisted  of  a few  leaves  pinned  together,  and  headed  (in  a 
woman’s  hand-writing),  “ My  Journal  at  Rome.”  A brief  exami- 
nation sliowed  that  the  journal  had  been  written  by  Miss  Roseberry, 
and  that  it  wa.s  mainly  devoted  to  a record  of  the  last  days  of  her 
father’s  life. 


THE  In^EW  MAGDALEN, 


21 


After  replacing  the  journal  and  the  correspondence  in  the  case, 
the  one  paper  left  on  the  table  was  a letter.  The  envelope,  which 
was  enclosed,  bore  this  address:  “Lady  Janet  Roy,  Mablethorpe 
House,  Kensington,  London.”  Mercy  took  the  inclosure  from  the 
Oi)en  envelope.  The  first  lines  she  read  informed  her  that  she  had 
found  the  Colonel’s  letter  of  introduction,  presenting  his  daughter 
to  her  protectress  on  her  arrival  in  England. 

Mercy  read  the  letter  through.  It  was  described  by  the  w iter  as 
the  last  effort  of  a dying  man.  Colonel  Roseberry  v/rote  affection* 
ately  of  his  daughter’s  merits,  and  regretfully  of  her  neglected 
education — ascribing  the  latter  to  the  pecuniary  losses  which  had 
forced  him  to  emigrate  to  Canada  in  the  character  of  a poor 
man.  Fervent  expressions  of  gratitude  followed,  addressed  to 
Lady  Janet.  “I  owe  it  to  you,”  the  letter  concluded,  “that 
1 am  dying  with  my  mind  at  ease  about  the  future  of  my  dar 
ling  girl.  To  your  generous  protection  1 commit  the  one  treas 
lire  I have  left  to  me  on  earth.  Through  your  long  lifetime  you 
have  nobly  used  your  high  rank  and  your  great  fortune  as  a means 
of  doing  good.  I believe  it  will  not  be  counted  among  the  least  of 
your  virtues  hereafter  that  you  comforted  the  last  hours  of  an  old 
soldier  by  opening  your  heart  and  your  home  to  his  friendless 
child.” 

So  the  letter  ended.  Mercy  laid  it  down  with  a heavy  heart. 
What  a chance  the  poor  girl  had  lost!  A woman  of  rank  and  fort- 
une waiting  to  receive  her — a woman  so  merciful  and  so  generous 
that  the  father’s  mind  had  been  easy  about  the  daughter  on  his 
death -bed — and  there  the  daughter  lay,  beyond  the  reach  of  Lady 
Janet’s  kindness,  beyond  the  need  of  Lady  Janet’s  help!  The 
French  captain’s  writing  materials  were  left  on  the  table.  Mercy 
turned  the  letter  over  so  that  she  might  write  the  news  of  Miss  Kose- 
berry’s  death  on  the  blank  page  at  the  end.  She  was  still  consider- 
ing what  expression  she  should  use,  when  the  sound  of  complaining 
voices  from  the  next  room  caught  her  ear.  The  wounded  men  left 
buliind  were  moaning  for  help—the  deserted  soldiers  were  losing 
their  fortitude  at  last. 

She  entered  the  kitchen.  A cry  of  delight  welcomed  her  appear- 
ance— the  mere  sight  of  her  composed  the  men.  From  one  straw 
bed  to  another  she  passed  with  comforting  words  that  gave  them 
hope,  with  skilled  and  tender  hands  that  soothed  their  pain.  They 
kissed  the  hem  of  her  black  dress,  they  called  her  their  guardian 
angel,  as  the  beautiful  creature  moved  among  them,  and  bent  over 
their  hard  pillows  her  gentle  compassionate  face  I will  be  witS 


22 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH. 


you  when  the  Germans  come,”  she  saicl,  as  she  left  him  to  return 
to  her  unwritten  letter.  '‘Courage,  my  poor  fellows!  you  arc  not 
deserted  by  your  nurse.” 

“ Courage,  madam!”  the  men  replied;  “and  God  bless  you!” 

If  the  firing  had  been  resfimed  at  that  moment— if  a shell  had 
struck  her  dead  in  the  act  of  succoring  the  afflicted,  what  Christian 
judgment  would  have  hesitated  to  declare  that  there  was  a place  for 
this  woman  in  heaven?  But  if  the  war  ended  and  left  her  still  liv- 
ing, where  was  the  place  for  her  on  earth?  Where  were  her  pros- 
pects? Where  was  her  home?  She  returned  to  the  letter.  Instead, 
however,  of  seating  herself  to  write,  she  stood  by  the  table,  absently 
looking  down  at  the  morsel  of  paper. 

A strange  fancy  had  sprung  to  life  in  her  mind  on  re-entering  the 
room;  she  herself  smiled  faintly  at  the  extravagance  of  it.  What 
if  she  were  to  ask  Lady  Janet  Roy  to  let  her  supply  Miss  Roseberry's 
place?  She  had  met  Miss  Roseberry  under  critical  circumstances, 
and  she  had  done  for  her  all  that  one  woman  coiild  do  to  help 
another.  There  was  in  this  circumstance  some  little  claim  to  notice, 
perhaps,  if  Lady  Janet  had  no  other  companion  and  reader  in  view. 
Suppose  she  ventured  to  plead  her  own  cause— what  would  the  noble 
and  merciful  lady  do?  She  would  write  back  and  say,  “ Send  me 
references  to  your  character,  and  I will  see  what  can  be  done.” 
Her  character!  Her  references!  Merey  laughed  bitterly,  and  sat 
down  to  write  in  the  fewest  words  all  that  was  needed  from  her — a 
plain  statement  of  the  facts. 

No!  Not  a line  could  she  put  on  the  paper.  That  fancy  of  hers 
was  not  to  be  dismissed  at  will.  Her  mind  was  perversely  busy  now 
with  an  imaginative  picture  of  the  beauty  of  Mablethorpe  House 
and  the  comfort  and  elegance  of  the  life  that  was  led  there.  Once 
more  she  thought  of  the  chance  which  Miss  Roseberry  had  lost. 
Unhappy  creature!  what  a home  would  have  been  open  to  her  if 
the  shell  had  only  fallen  on  the  side  of  the  window,  instead  of  on 
the  side  of  the  yard!  Mercy  pushed  the  letter  away  from  her,  and 
walked  impatiently  to  and  fro  in  the  room. 

The  perversity  in  her  thoughts  was  not  to  be  mastered  in  that 
way.  Her  mind  only  abandoned  one  useless  train  of  reflection  to 
occupy  itself  with  another.  She  was  now  looking  by  anticipation 
at  her  own  future.  What  were  her  prospects  (if  she  lived  through 
it)  when  the  war  was  over?  The  experience  of  the  past  delineated 
with  pitiless  fidelity  the  dreary  scene.  Go  where  she  might,  do  what 
she  might,  it  would  end  always  in  the  same  way.  Curiosity  and, 
admiration  excited  by  her  beauty;  inquiries  made  about  her;  the 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


23 


story  of  the  past  discovered;  Society  charitably  sorry  for  her;  Society 
generously  subscribing  for  her;  and  still,  through  all  the  years  of 
her  life,,  the  same  result  in  the  end— the  shadow  of  the  old  disgrace 
surrounding  her  as  with  a pestilence,  isolating  her  among  other 
women,  branding  her,  even  when  she  had  earned  her  pardon  in  the 
sight  of  God,  with  the  mark  of  an  indelible  disgrace  in  the  sight  of 
man:  there  was  the  prospect!  And  she  was  only  five  and-twenty 
last  birthday;  she  was  in  the  prime  of  her  health  and  her  strength; 
she  might  live,  in  the  course  of  nature,  fifty  years  more! 

She  stopped  again  at  the  bedside;  she  looked  again  at  the  face  of 
the  corpse. 

To  what  end  had  the  shell  struck  the  woman  who  had  some  hope 
in  her  life,  and  spared  the  woman  who  had  none?  The  words  she 
had  herself  spoken  to  Grace  Eoseberry  came  back  to  her  as  she 
thought  of  it.  If  1 only  had  your  chance.  If  I only  had  your 
reputation  and  your  prospects!'*  And  there  was  the  chance  wasted! 
there  were  the  enviable  prospects  thrown  away?  It  was  almost 
maddening  to  contemplate  that  result,  feeling  her  own  position  as 
•he  felt  it.  In  the  bitter  mockery  of  despair  she  bent  over  the  life- 
less figure,  and  spoke  to  it  as  if  it  had  ears  to  hear  her.  “ Oh!” 
she  said,  longingly,  “ if  you  could  be  Mercy  Merrick  and  if  I 
could  be  Grace  Eoseberry  now 

The  instant  the  words  passed  her  lips  she  started  into  an  erect 
position.  She  stood  by  the  bed,  with  her  eyes  staring  wildly  into 
empty  space;  with  her  brain  in  a flame;  with  her  heart  beating  as  if  it 
would  stifle  her.  “ If  you  could  be  Mercy  Merrick,  and  if  I could 
be  Grace  Eoseberry,  now!**  In  one  breathless  moment  the  thought 
assumed  a new  development  in  her  mind.  In  one  breathless  moment 
the  conviction  struck  her  like  an  electric  shock.  Slie  might  be  Gh^ace 
Eoseberry  if  she  dared!  There  was  absolutely  nothing  to  stop  her 
from  presenting  herself  to  Lady  Janet  Eoy  under  Grace's  name  and 
in  Grace's  place!  What  were  the  risks?  Where  was  the  weak 
point  in  the  scheme? 

Grace  had  said  it  herself  in  so  many  words— she  and  Lady  Janet 
had  never  seen  each  other.  Her  friends  were  in  Canada;  her  rela- 
tions in  England  were  dead.  Mercy  knew  the  place  in  which  she 
had  lived — the  place  called  Port  Logan— as  well  as  she  had  known  it 
herself.  Mercy  had  only  to  read  the  manuscript  journal  to  be  able 
to  answer  any  questions  relating  to  the  visit  to  Eome  and  to  Colonel 
Eoseberry *s  death.  She  had  no  accomplished  lady  to  personate: 
Grace  had  spoken  herself — her  father's  letter  spoke  also  in  the 
plainest  terms — of  her  neglected  education.  Everything,  literally 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


84 

every vhing,  was  in  the  lost  woman’s  favor.  The  people  with 
whom  she  had  been  con nected  in  the  ambulance  had  gone  to  return 
no  more.  Her  own  c)othes  were  on  Miss  Roseberry  at  that  moment — 
marked  with  her  own  name.  Miss  Roseberry 's  clothes,  marked 
with  her  name,  were  drying,  at  Mercy’s  disposal,  in  the  next  room. 
The  way  of  escape  from  the  unendurable  humiliation  of  her  present 
life  lay  open  before  her  at  last.  What  a prospect  it  was!  A,  new 
identity,  which  she  might  own  anywhere!  a new  name,  which  was 
beyond  reproach!  a new  past  life,  into  which  all  the  world  mighi 
search,  and  be  welcome!  Her  color  rose,  her  eyes  sparkled;  she  had 
never  been  so  irresistibly  beautiful  as  she  looked  at  the  moment 
f when  the  new  future  disclosed  itself,  radiant  with  new  hope. 

She  waited  a minute,  until  she  could  look  at  her  own  daring  proj- 
ect from  another  point  of  view.  Where  was  the  harm  of  it?  what 
did  her  conscience  say?  As  to  Grace,  in  the  first  place.  What  in- 
jury was  she  doing  to  a woman  who  was  dead?  The  question 
answered  itself.  No  injury  to  the  woman.  No  injury  to  her  rela- 
tions. Her  relations  were  dead  also. 

As  to  Lady  Janet,  in  the  second  place.  If  she  served  her  new 
mistress  faithfully,  if  she  filled  her  new  sphere  honorably,  if  she  was 
diligent  under  instruction  and  grateful  for  kindness — if,  in  one 
word,  she  was  all  that  she  might  be  and  would  be  in  the  heavenly 
peace  and  security  of  that  new  life— what  injury  was  she  doing  to 
Lady  Janet?  Once  more  the  question  answered  itself.  !She  might, 
and  would,  give  Lady  Janet  cause  to  bless  the  day  when  she  first 
entered  the  house. 

She  snatched  up  Colonel  Roseberry ’s  letter,  and  put  it  into  the 
case  with  the  other  papers.  The  opportunity  was  before  her;  the 
chances  were  all  in  her  favor;  her  conscience  said  nothing  against 
trying  the  daring  scheme.  She  decided  then  and  there — “ I’ll  do 
it!’’  Something  jarred  on  her  finer  sense,  something  offended  her 
better  nature,  so  she  put  the  case  into  the  pocket  of  her  dress.  She 
had  decided,  and  yet  she  was  not  at  ease;  she  was  not  quite  sure  of 
having  fairly  questioned  her  conscience  yet.  What  if  she  laid  the 
letter  case  on  the  table  again,  and  waited  until  her  excitement  had 
cooled  down,  and  then  put  the  contemplated  project  soberly  on  its 
trial  before  her  own  sense  of  right  and  wrong? 

She  thought  once,  and  hesitated.  Before  she  could  think  twice, 
the  distant  tramp  of  marching  footsteps  and  the  distant  clatter  of 
horses’  hoofs  were  wafted  to  her  on  the  night  air.  The  Germans 
were  entering  the  village!  In  a few  minutes  more  they  would  ap- 
pear in  the  cottage;  they  would  summon  her  to  give  an  account  of 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


25 


herself  There  was  do  time  for  waiting  until  she  was  composed 
again.  Which  should  it  be — the  new  life,  as  Grace  Eoseberry?  or 
the  old  life,  as  Mercy  Merrick? 

She  looked  for  the  last  time  at  the  bed.  Grace’s  course  was  run; 
Grace’s  future  was  at  her  disposal.  Her  resolute  nature,  forced  to 
a choice  on  the  instant,  held  by  the  daring  alternative.  She  per- 
sisted in  the  determination  to  take  Grace’s  place. 

The  tramping  footsteps  of  the  Germans  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
The  voices  of  the  officers  w^ere  audible,  giving  the  words  of  com- 
mand. She  seated  herself  at  the  table,  waiting  steadily  for  what 
was  to  come. 

The  ineradicable  instinct  of  the  sex  directed  her  eyes  to  her  dress, 
before  the  Germans  appeared.  Looking  it  over  to  see  that  it  was  in 
perfect  order,  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  red  cross  on  her  l<*ft  shoulder. 
In  a moment  it  struck  her  that  her  nurse’s  costume  might  involve 
her  in  a needless  risk.  It  associated  her  with  a public  position;  it 
might  lead  to  inquiries  at  a later  time,  and  those  inquiries  might 
betray  her.  She  looked  round.  The  gray  cloak  which  she  had 
lent  to  Grace  attracted  her  attention.  She  took  it  up  and  covered 
herself  with  it  from  head  to  foot. 

The  cloak  was  just  arranged  round  her  when  she  heard  the  outer 
door  thrust  open,  and  voices  speaking  in  a strange  tongue  and  arms 
grounded  in  the  room  behind  her.  Should  she  wait  to  be  discov- 
ered? or  should  she  show  herself  of  her  own  accord?  It  was  less 
trying  to  such  a nature  as  hers  to  show  herself  than  to  wait.  She 
advanced  to  enter  the  kitchen.  The  canvas  curtain,  as  she  stretched 
out  her  hand  to  it,  was  suddenly  thrown  back  from  the  other  side, 
and  three  men  confronted  her  in  the  open  doorway. 


CHA.PTER  V. 

THE  GERMAN  SURGEON. 

The  youngest  of  the  three  strangers — judging  by  features,  com. 
plexion  and  manner — was  apparently  an  Englishman.  He  wore  a 
military  cap  and  military  boots,  but  was  otherwise  dressed  as  a civil- 
ian iSText  to  him  stood  an  officer  in  Prussian  uniform,  and  next 
to  ttie  officer  was  the  third  and  oldest  of  the  part}^  He  also  was 
dressed  in  uniform,  but  his  appearance  was  far  from  being  suggest- 
ive of  the  appearance  of  a military  man.  He  halted  on  one  foot,  he 
stooped  at  the  shoulders,  and  instead  of  a sword  by  his  side  he  car- 
ried a stick  in  his  band.  After  looking  sharply  through  a large 


THE  HEW  MAGDA  LEH. 


20 


/ 

/ 


\ 

pair  of  tortoise-shell  spectacles,  first  at  Mercy,  then  at  the  bed,  then 
all  round  the  room,  he  turned  ivith  a cynical  composure  of  manner 
to  the  Prussian  officer,  and  broke  the  silence  in  these  words: 

**  A woman  ill  on  the  bed;  another  woman  in  attendance  on  har, 
and  no  one  else  in  the  room.  Any  necessity,  major,  for  setting  a 
guard  here?’’ 

“ HTo  necessity,”  answered  the  major.  He  wheeled  round  on  his 
heel  and  returned  to  the  kitchen.  The  German  surgeon  advanced  a 
little,  led  by  his  professional  instinct,  in  the  direction  of  the  bedside. 
The  young  Englishman,  whose  eyes  had  remained  riveted  in  admira- 
tion on  Mercy,  drew  the  canvas  screen  over  the  doorway,  and  re- 
spectfully addressed  her  in  the  French  language. 

“ May  I ask  if  I am  speaking  to  a French  lady?”  he  said. 

“ 1 am  an  Englishwoman,”  Mercy  replied. 

The  surgeon  heard  the  answer.  Stopping  short  on  his  way  to  the 
bed,  he  pointed  to  the  recumbent  figure  on  it,  and  said  to  Mercy,  in 
good  English,  spoken  with  a strong  German  accent: 

” Can  I be  of  any  use  there?” 

His  manner  was  ironically  courteous,  his  harsh  voice  was  pitched 
in  one  sardonic  monotony  of  tone.  Mercy  took  an  instantaneous 
dislike  to  this  hobbling,  ugly  old  man,  staring  at  her  rudely  through 
his  great  tortoise-shell  spectacles. 

“You  can  be  of  no  use.  Sir,”  she  said,  shortly.  “ The  lady  was 
killed  when  your  troops  shelled  this  cottage.” 

The  Englishman  started,  and  looked  compassionately  toward  the 
bed.  The  German  refreshed  himself  with  h pinch  of  snuff,  and  put 
another  question. 

“ Has  the  body  been  examined  by  a medical  man?”  he  asked. 

Mercy  ungraciously  limited  her  reply  to  the  one  necessary  word, 
“Yes.” 

The  present  surgeon  was  not  a man  to  be  daunted  by  a lady’s  dis- 
approval of  him.  He  went  on  with  his  questions. 

“ Who  has  examined  the  body?”  he  inquired  next. 

Mercy  answered,  “ The  doctor  attached  to  the  French  ambu- 
lance.” 

The  German  grunted  in  contemptuous  disapproval  of  all  French- 
men and  all  French  institutions.  The  Englishman  seized  his  first 
opportunity  of  addressing  himself  to  Mercy  once  more. 

Is  the  lady  a countrywoman  of  ours?”  he  asked,  gently. 

Mercy  considered  before  she  answered  him.  With  the  object  she 
had  in  view,  there  might  be  serious  reasons  for  speakng  with  ef- 
treme  caution  when  she  spoke  of  Grace. 


THE  MAGDALEK. 


27 


I believe  so/’  she  said.  “We  met  here  by  accident.  I know 
nothing  of  her.'’ 

“ Kot  even  her  name?”  inquired  the  German  surgeon. 

Mercy’s  resolution  was  hardly  equal  yet  to  giving  her  own  name 
openly  as  the  name  of  Grace.  She  took  refuge  in  flat  denial. 

“ Not  even  her  name,”  she  repeated  obstinately. 

The  old  man  stared  at  her  more  rudely  than  ever,  considered  with 
himself, and  took  the  candle  from  the  table.  He  hobbled  back  to  the 
bed,  and  examined  the  figure  laid  on  it  in  silence.  The  Englishman 
continued  the  conversation,  no  longer  concealing  the  interest  that  he 
felt  in  the  beautiful  woman  who  stood  before  him. 

“ Pardon  me,”  he  said;  ” you  are  very  young*  to  be  alone  in  war- 
time in  such  a place  as  this.” 

The  sudden  outbreak  of  a disturbance  in  the  kitchen  relieved 
Mercy  from  any  immediate  necessity  for  answering  him.  She  heard 
the  voices  of  the  wounded  men  raised  in  feeble  remonstrance,  and  the 
harsh  command  of  the  foreign  officers,  bidding  them  be  silent. 
The  generous  instincts  of  the  woman  instantly  prevailed.over  every 
personal  consideration  imposed  on  her  by  the  position  which  she  had 
assumed.  Reckless  whether  she  betrayed  herself  or  not  as  nurse  in 
the  French  ambulance,  she  instantly  drew  aside  the  canvas  to  enter 
the  kitchen.  A German  sentinel  barred  the  way  io  her,  and  an- 
nounced, in  his  own  language,  that  no  strangers  were  admitted. 
The  Englishman,  politely  interposing,  asked  if  she  had  any  special 
object  in  wishing  to  enter  the  room. 

“ The  poor  FrenchmenI”  she  said,  earnestly,  her  heart  upbraiding 
her  for  having  forgotten  them.  “ The  poor  wounded  Frenchmen.” 

The  German  surgeon  advanced  from  the  bedside,  and  took  the 
matter  up  before  the  Englishman  could  say  a word  more. 

“ You  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  wounded  Frenchmen,”  he 
croaked,  in  the  hardest  notes  of  his  voice.  “ The  wounded  French- 
men are  my  business,  not  yours.  They  are  our  prisoners,  and  they 
are  being  moved  to  our  ambulance.  I am  Ignatius  Wetzel,  chief  of 
tlie  medical  staff — and  I tell  you  this.  Hold  your  tongue.”  He 
turned  to  the  sentinel,  and  added  in  German,  “Draw  the  curtain  again ; 
and  if  the  woman  persists,  put  her  back  into  this  room  with  your 
own  hand.” 

Mercy  attempted  to  remonstrate.  The  Englishman  respectfully 
took  her  arm,  and  drew  her  out  of  the  sentinel’s  reach. 

“ It  is  useless  to  resist,”  he  said.  “ The  German  discipline  never 
gives  way.  There  is  not  the  least  need  to  be  uneasy  about  the 
Frenchmen.  The  ambulance  under  Surgeon  Wetzel  is  admirably 


28 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH, 


administered.  1 answer  for  it,  the  men  will  be  well  treated/"  He 
saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes  as  he  spoke ; his  admiration  for  her  rose 
liigher  and  higher.  “Kind  as  well  as  beautiful,’’  he  thought. 
“ What  a charming  creature!” 

“ Well,”  said  Ignatius  Wetzel,  eying  Mercy  sternly  through  his 
spectacles,  “ are  you  satisfied?  And  will  you  hold  your  tongue?” 

She  yielded:  it  was  plainly  useless  to  persist.  But  for  the  sur- 
geon’s resistance,  her  devotion  to  the  wounded  men  might  hav6 
stopped  her  on  the  downward  way  that  she  was  going.  If  she  could 
only  have  been  absorbed  again,  mind  and  body,  in  her  good  work 
as  a nurse,  the  temptation  might  even  yet  have  found  her  strong 
enough  to  resist  it.  The  fatal  severity  of  the  German  discipline  ha^ 
snapped  asunder  the  last  tie  that  bound  her  to  her  better  self.  Her 
face  hardened  as  she  walked  away  proudly  from  Surgeon  Wetzel, 
and  took  a chair. 

The  Englishman  followed  her,  and  reverted  to  the  question  of  her 
present  situation  in  the  cottage.  “ Don’t  suppose  that  I want  to 
alarm  you,”  he  said.  “ There  is,  I repeat,  no  need  to  be  anxious 
about  the  Frenchmen,  but  there  is  serious  reason  for  anxiety 
on  your  own  account.  The  action  will  be  renewed  round  this 
village  by  daylight;  you  ought  really  to  be  in  a place  of  safety. 
I am  an  ofl3.cer  in  the  English  army  —my  name  is  Horace  Holmcroft. 
I shall  be  delighted  to  be  of  use  to  you,  and  I can  be  of  use,  if  you 
will  let  me.  May  I ask  if  you  are  traveling?” 

Mercy  gathered  the  cloak  which  concealed  her  nurse’s  dress  more* 
closely  round  her,  and  committed  herself  silently  to  her  first  overt  act 
of  deception.  She  bowed  her  head  in  the  affirmative. 

“ Are  you  on  your  way  to  England?” 

“Yes.” 

“ In  that  case  I can  pass  you  through  the  German  lines,  and  for- 
ward you  at  once  on  your  journey.” 

Mercy  looked  at  him  in  unconcealed  surprise.  His  strongly  felt 
interest  in  her  was  restrained  within  the  strictest  limits  of  good 
breeding:  he  was  unmistakably  a gentleman.  Did  he  really  mean 
what  he  had  just  said?  “You  can  pass  me  through  the  German 
lines?”  she  repeated.  ‘ You  must  possess  extraordinary  infiiience, 
sir,  to  be  able  to  do  that.” 

Mr.  Horace  Holmcroft  smiled. 

“ I possess  the  influence  that  no  one  can  resisit,”  he  answered — 
“the  influence  of  the  Press.  I am  serving  here  as  a 'war  corre- 
spondent of  one  of  our  great  English  newspapers.  If  I ask  him,  the 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


29 


commanding  officer  will  grant  you  a pass.  He  is  close  to  this  cottage. 
What  do  you  say?” 

She  summoned  her  resolution— not  without  difficulty,  even  now 
— and  took  him  at  his  word.  “ 1 gratefully  accept  your  offer,  sir.” 

He  advanced  a step  toward  the  kitchen,  and  stopped.  ” It  may 
be  well  to  make  the  application  as  privately  as  possible,”  he  said, 
' I shall  be  questioned  if  1 pass  through  that  room.  Is  there  no  other 
vay  out  of  the  cottage?” 

Mercy  showed  him  the  door  leading  into  the  yard.  He  bowed — 
md  left  her.  She  looked  furtively  toward  the  German  surgeon. 
Ignatius  Wetzel  was  still  at  the  bed,  bending  over  the  body,#  and 
apparently  absorbed  in  examining  the  wound  which  had  been  in- 
flcted  by  the  shell.  Mercy’s  instinctive  aversion  to  the  old  man  in- 
creased tenfold  now  that  she  was  left  alone  with  him.  She  withdrew 
uneasily  to  the  window,  and  looked  out  at  the  moonlight. 

Had  she  committed  herself  to  the  fraud?  Hardly,  yet.  She  had 
committed  herself  to  returning  to  England — nothing  more.  There 
was  no  neccwssity,  thus  far,  which  forced  her  to  present  herself  at 
Mablethorpe  Hou.se,  in  Grace’s  place.  There  was  still  time  to  recon- 
sider her  resolution — still  time  to  write  the  account  of  the  accident, 
as  she  had  proposed,  and  send  it  with  the  letter  case  to  Lady  Janet 
Roy.  Suppose  she  finally  decided  on  taking  this  course,  what  was 
to  become  of  her  when  she  found  herself  in  England  again?  There 
was  no  alternative  open  but  to  apply  once  more  to  her  friend  the 
matron.  There  was  nothing  for  her  to  d o but  to  return  to  the  Refuge ! 

The  Refuge!  The  matron!  What  past  association  with  these  two 
was  now  presenting  itself  uninvited,  and  taking  the  foremost  place 
in  her  mind?  Of  whom  was  she  now  thinking,  in  that  strange  place, 
and  at  that  crisis  in  her  life?  Of  the  man  whose  words  had  found 
their  way  to  her  heart,  whose  influence  had  strengthened  and  com- 
forted her,  in  the  chapel  of  the  Refuge.  One  of  the  finest  passages 
in  his  sermon  had  been  especially  devoted  by  Julian  Gray  to  warn- 
ing the  congregation  whom  he  addressed  against  the  degrading  in- 
fluences of  falsehood  and  deceit.  The  terms  in  which  he  had  ap- 
pealed to  the  miserable  women  round  him — terms  of  sympathy  and 
encouragement  never  addressed  to  them  before— came  back  to 
Mercy  Merrick  as  if  she  had  heard  them  an  hour  since.  She  turned 
deadly  pale  as  they  now  pleaded  with  her  once  more.  ” Oh!”  she 
whispered  to  herself,  as  she  thought  of  what  she  had  purposed  and 
planned,  ” what  have  I done?  what  have  I done?” 

She  turned  from  the  window  with  some  vague  idea  in  her  mind  of 
following  Mr.  Holmcroft  and  calling  him  ])ack.  As  she  faced  the 


30 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH. 


bed  again  she  also  confronted  Ignatius  Wetzel.  He  was  Just  stej^- 
ping  forward  to  speak  to  her,  with  a white  handkerchief— the  hand- 
kerchief which  she  had  lent  to  Grace  -held  up  in  his  hand. 

“ I have  found  this  in  her  pocket,”  he  said.  “ Here  is  her  name 
written  on  it.  She  must  be  a countrywoman  of  yours.”  He  rea 
the  letters  marked  on  the  handkerchief,  with  some  diflQcuIty.  ” H 
name  is— Mercy  Merrick.” 

His  lips  had  said  it — not  hers!  He  had  given  lier  the  name. 

'‘‘Mercy  Merrick’  is  an  English  name?'*  pursued  Ignath 
Wetzel,  with  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  her.  “ Is  it  not  so?” 

The  hold  on  her  mind  of  the  past  association  with  Julian  Gray 
began  to  relax.  One  present  and  pressing  question  now  possessed 
itself  of  the  foremost  place  in  her  thoughts.  Should  she  correct  tlje 
error  into  which  the  German  had  fallen  ’ The  time  had  come— /o 
speak,  and  assert  her  own  identity;  or  to  be  silent,  and  commit  her- 
self to  the  fraud.  Horace  Holmcroft  entered  the  room  again  at  tne 
moment  when  Surgeon  Wetzel’s  staring  eyes  were  still  fastened  jhn 
her,  waiting  for  her  reply. 

‘‘  I have  not  overrated  my  interest,”  he  said,  pointing  to  a little 
slip  of  paper  in  his  hand.  ” Here  is  the  pass.  Have  you  got  pen 
and  ink?  I must  fill  up  the  form.  ” 

Mercy  pointed  to  the  writing  materials  on  the  table.  Horace  seated 
himself,  and  dipped  the  pen  into  the  ink. 

‘‘  Pray  don’t  think  tbatl  wish  to  intrude  myself  into  your  affairs,” 
he  said.  ” I am  obliged  to  ask  you  one  or  two  plain  questions. 
What  is  your  name?” 

A sudden  trembling  seized  her.  She  supported  herself  against  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  H^er  whole  future  existence  depended  on  her  an- 
swer. She  was  incapable  of  uttering  a word.  Ignatius  Wetzel 
stood  her  friend  for  once.  His  croaking  voice  filled  the  empty  gap 
of  silence  exactly  at  the  right  time.  He  doggedly  held  the  hand- 
kerchief under  her  eyes.  He  obstinately  repeated,  ” Mercy  Merrick 
is  an  English  name.  Is  it  not  so?”  Horace  Holmcroft  looked  up 
from  the  table.  “Mercy  Merrick?”  he  said.  “Who  is  Mercy 
Merrick?” 

Surgeon  ^Vetzel  pointed  to  the  corpse  on  the  bed. 

“ I have  found  the  name  on  the  handRerchief,”  he  said.  “ This 
lady,  it  seems,  had  not  curiosity  enough  to  look  for  the  name  of  her 
own  countrywoman.”  He  made  that  mocking  allusion  to  Mercy 
with  a tone  which  was  almost  a tone  of  suspicion,,  and  a look 
which  was  almost  a look  of  contempt.  Her  quick  temper  instant- 
ly resented  the  discourtsey  of  which  she  had  been  made  the  ob- 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


31 


ject.  The  irritation  of  the  moment— so  often  do  the  most  trifling 
motives  determine  the  most  serious  human  actions  — decided 
her  on  the  course  that  she  should  pursue.  She  turned  her  hack 
scornfully  on  the  rude  old  man,  and  left  him  in  the  delusion  that  he 
had  discovered  the  dead  woman’s  name.  Horace  returned  to  the 
business  of  filling  up  the  form. 

“ Pardon  me  for  pressing  the  question,’’  he  said.  “ You  know 
what  German  discipline  is  by  this  time.  What  is  your  name?” 

She  answered  him  recklessly,  defiantly,  without  fairly  realizing 
what  she  was  doing  until  it  was  done.  “ Grace  Roseberry , ” she  said. 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  her  mouth  before  she  would  have 
given  everything  she  possessed  in  the  word  to  recall  them. 

” Miss?”  asked  Horace  smiling.  She  could  only  answer  him  by 
bowing  her  head. 

He  wrote,  ” Miss  Grace  Roseberry  ’’—reflected  for  a moment — and 
then  added,  interrogatively,  “ Returning  to  her  friends  in  Eng- 
land?” Her  friends  in  England?  Mercy’s  heart  swelled:  she 
silently  replied  by  another  sign.  He  wrote  the  words  after  the  name, 
and  shook  the  sand-box  over  the  wet  ink.  “ That  will  be  enough,” 
he  said,  rising  and  presenting  the  pass  to  Mercy;  ” I will  see  you 
through  the  lines  myself,  and  arrange  for  your  being  sent  on  by  the 
railway.  Where  is  your  luggage?” 

Mercy  pointed  toward  the  front-door  of  the  building.  “ In  a shed 
outside  the  cottage,”  she  ans\\'ered  “It  is  not  much;  I can  do 
' everything  for  myself  if  the  sentinel  will  let  me  pass  through  the 
kitchen.” 

Horace  pointed  to  the  paper  in  her  hand.  “You  can  go  where 
you  like  now,”  he  said.  “ Shall  I wait  for  you  here  or  outside?” 

Mercy  glanced  distrustfully  at  Ignatius  Wetzel.  He  was  again 
absorbed  in  his  endless  examination  of  the  body  on  the  bed.  If  she 
left  him  alone  with  Mr.  Holmcroft,  there  was  no  knowing  what  the 
hateful  old  man  might  not  say  of  her.  She  answered,  “ Wait  for 
me  outside,  if  you  please.”  The  sentinel  drew  back  with  a military 
salute  at  the  sight  of  the  pass.  All  the  French  prisoners  had  been 
removed;  tliere  were  not  more  than  half  a dozen  Germans  in  the 
kitchen,  and  the  greater  part  of  them  were  asleep.  Mercy  took 
Grace  Roseberry’s  clothes  from  the  corner  in  which  they  had  been 
left  to  dry,  and  made  for  the  shed — a rough  structure  of  wood,  built 
out  from  the  cottage  wall.  At  the  front- door  she  encountered  a 
second  sentinel,  and  showed  her  pass  for  the  second  time.  She  spoke 
to  this  man,  asking  him  if  he  understood  French.  He  answered 
that  he  understood  a little.  Mercy  gave  him  a piece  of  money,  and 


32 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


fiaid,  “ I am  going  to  pack  up  my  luggage  in  the  shed.  Be  kind 
enough  to  see  that  nobody  disturbs  me.’’  The  sentinel  saluted,  in 
token  that  he  understood.  Mercy  disappeared  in  the  dark  interior 
of  the  shed. 

Left  alone  with  Surgeon  Wetzel,  Horace  noticed  the  strange  old 
man  still  bending  intently  over  the  English  lady  who  had  been 
killed  by  the  shell. 

“ Anything  remarkable,”  he  asked,  ” in  the  manner  of  that  poor 
creature’s  death?” 

” Nothing  to  put  in  a newspaper,”  retorted  the  cynic,  pursuing 
his  investigations  as  attentively  as  ever. 

” Interesting  to  a doctor— eh?”  said  Horace. 

“ Yes.  Interesting  to  a doctor,”  was  the  gruff  reply. 

Horace  good-humoredly  accepted  the  hint  implied  in  those  words. 
He  quitted  the  room  by  the  door  leading  into  the  yard,  and  waited 
for  the  ch0,rming  Englishwoman,  as  he  had  been  instructed,  out- 
side the  cottage. 

Left  by  himself,  Ignatius  Wetzel,  after  a first  cautious  look  all 
round  him,  opened  the  upper  part  of  Grace’s  dress,  and  laid  his  left 
hand  on  her  heart.  Taking  a little  steel  instrument  from  his  waist- 
coat pocket  with  the  other  hand,  he  applied  it  carefully  to  the 
wound,  raised  a morsel  of  the  broken  and  depressed  bone  of  the 
skull,  and  waited  for  the  result.  ‘‘  Aha!”  he  cried,  addressing  with 
tt  terrible  gayety  the  senseless  creature  under  his  hands.  ” The 
Frenchman  says  you  are  dead,  my  dear — does  he?  The  Frenchman 
vs  a Quack!  The  Frenchman  is  an  Ass!”  He  lifted  his  head,  and 
called  into  the  kitchen.  ‘ Max!”  A sleepy  young  German,  cov- 
ered with  a dresser’s  apron  from  his  chin  to  his  feet,  drew  the  cur- 
tain and  waited  for  his  instructions,  ” Bring  me  my  black  bag,” 
said  Ignatius  Wetzel.  Having  given  that  order,  he  rubbed  his 
hands  cheerfully,  and  shook  himself  like  a dog.  ” Now  1 am  quite 
happy,”  croaked  the  terrible  old  man,  with  his  fierce  eyes  leering 
sidelong  at  the  bed.  ” My  dear  dead  Englishwoman,  I would  not 
have  missed  this  meeting  with  you  for  all  the  money  I have  in  the 
world.  Ha!  you  infernal  French  Quack,  you  call  it  death,  do  you? 
I call  it  suspended  animation  from  pressure  on  the  brain!” 

Max  appeared  with  tiie  black  bag.  Ignatius  Wetzel  selected  two 
fearful  instruments,  bright  and  new,  and  hugged  them  to  his 
bosom.  “My  little  boys,”  he  said,  tenderly,  as  if  they  were  two 
cliildren;  “my  blessed  little  boys,  come  to  work!’'  He  turned  to 
the  assidant,  “ Do  you  remember  the  battle  of  Solferino,  Max — and 
the  Austrian  soldier  I operated  on  for  a wound  on  the  head?” 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEN. 


33 


The  assistant’s  sleepy  eyes  opened  wide;  he  was  evidently  inter- 
ested, I remember,”  he  said.  “ I held  the  candle.  ” The  mas- 
ter led  the  way  to  the  bed. 

“ I am  not  satisfied  with  the  result  of  that  operation  at  Solfer 
ino,”hesaid;  “I  have  wanted  to  try  again  ever  since.  It’s  true 
that  I saved  the  man’s  life,  but  I failed  to  give  him  back  his  reason 
along  with  it.  It  might  have  been  something  wrong  in  the  opera- 
tion. or  it  might  have  been  something  wrong  in  the  man.  Which- 
ever it  was,  he  will  live  and  die  mad.  Now  look  here,  my  little 
Max,  at  this  dear  youna:  lady  on  the  bed.  She  gives  me  just  what  I 
wanted;  here  is  the  case  at  Solferino  once  more.  You  shall  hold 
the  candle  again,  my  good  boy;  stand  there,  and  look  with  all  your 
eyes.  I am  going  to  try  if  I can  save  the  life  and  the  reason  too  this 
time.” 

He  tucked  up  the  cuflis  of  his  coat  and  began  the  operation.  As 
|iis  fearful  instrument  touched  Grace’s  head,  the  voice  of  the  sen- 
tinel at  the  nearest  outpost  was  heard,  giving  the  word  in  German 
which  permitted  Mercy  to  take  the  first  step  on  her  journey  to  Eng- 
land: 

” Pass  the  English  lady ! ” 

The  operation  proceeded.  The  voice  of  the  sentinel  at  the  next 
post  was  heard  more  faintly  in  its  turn: 

Pass  the  English  larly!” 

The  operation  ended.  Ignatius  Wetzel  held  up  his  hands  for 
silence  and  put  his  ear  close  to  the  patient’s  mouth. 

The  first  trembling  breath  of  returning  life  fiuttered  over  Grace 
Roseberry’s  lips,  and  touched  the  old  man’s  wrinkled  cheek. 
“Aha!”  he  cried.  “Good  gad!  you  breathe — you  live!”  Ashe 
sp;)ke,  the  voice  of  the  sentinel  at  the  final  limit  of  the  German  lines 
''barely  audible  in  the  distance)  gave  the  word  for  the  last  time: 

“ Pa;ss  the  English  lady  I” 


34 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH, 


SECOND  SCENE. 

MABLETHORPE  HOUSE. 


PREAMBLE. 

The  place  is  Enirland. 

The  time  is  winter,  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy. 

The  persons  are,  Julian  Gray,  Horace  Holmcroft,  Lady  Janet 
Roy,  Grace  Roseberry,  and  Mercy  Merrick. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

LADY  JANET'S  COMPANION. 

It  is  a glorious  winter’s  day.  The  sky  is  clear,  the  frost  is  hard, 
imd  the  ice  bears  for  skating. 

The  dining-room  of  the  ancient  mansion  called  Mablethorpe 
House,  situated  in  the  London  suburb  of  Kensington,  is  famous 
among  artists  and  other  per^ns  of  taste  for  the  carved  woodwork,  of 
Italian  origin,  which  covers  the  walls  on  three  sides.  On  the  fourth 
side  the  march  of  modern  improvement  has  broken  in,  and  has  va- 
ried and  brightened  the  scene  by  means  of  a conservatory,  forming 
an  entrance  to  the  room  through  a winter-garden  of  rare  plants  and 
flowers.  On  your  right  hand,  as  you  stand  fronting  the  conserva- 
tory, the  monotony  of  the  paneled  wall  is  relieved  by  a quaintly  pat- 
terned door  of  old  inlaid  wood,  leading  into  the  library,  and  thence, 
across  the  great  hall,  to  the  other  reception-rooms  of  the  house.  A 
corresponding  door  on  the  left  hand  gives  access  to  the  billiard  room, 
to  the  smoking-room,  next  to  it,  and  to  a smaller  hall  commanding 
one  of  the  secondary  entrances  to  the  building.  On  the  left  side 
also  is  the  ample  fire-place,  surmounted  by  its  marble  mantel-piece, 
carved  in  the  profusely  and  confusedly  ornate  style  of  eighty  years 
since.  To  the  educated  eye  the  dining-room,  with  its  modern  furni- 
ture and  conservatory,  its  ancient  walls  and  doors,  and  its  lofty 
mantel-piece  (neither  very  old  nor  very  new),  presents  a startling, 
almost  a revolutionary,  mixture  of  the  decorative  workmanship  of 
widely  differing  schools.  To  the  ignorant  eye  the  one  result  pro- 
duced is  an  impression  of  p(3rfect  luxury  and  comfort,  united  in  the 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


35 


friendliest  combination,  and  developed  on  the  largest  scale.  The 
clock  has  just  struck  two.  The  table  is  spread  for  luncheon. 

The  persons  seated  at  the  table  are  three  in  number.  First, 
Lady  Janet  Foy.  Second,  a young  lady  who  is  her  reader  and 
companion.  Third,  a guest  staying  in  the  house,  who  has  already 
appeared  in  these  pages  under  the  name  of  Horace  Holmcroft— 
attached  to  the  German  army  as  war  correspondent  of  an  English 
newspaper. 

Lady  Janet  Koy  needs  but  little  introduction.  Everybody  with 
the  slightest  pretension  to  experience  in  London  society  knows 
Lady  Janet  Roy. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  her  old  lace  and  her  priceless  rubies?  Who 
has  not  admired  her  commanding  figure,  her  beautifully  dressed 
white  hair,  her  wonderful  black  eyes,  which  still  preserve  their 
youthful  brightness,  after  first  opening  on  the  world  seventy  years 
since?  Who  has  not  felt  the  warmth  of  her  frank,  easy  flowing  talk, 
her  inexhaustible  spirits,  her  good-humored,  gracious  sociability  of 
manner?  Where  is  the  modern  hermit  who  is  not  familiarly  ac- 
quainted, by  hearsay  at  least,  with  the  fantastic  novelty  and  humor 
of  her  opinions;  with  her  generous  encouragement  of  rising  merit  of 
any  sort,  in  all  ranks,  high  or  low;  with  her  charities,  which  know 
no  distinction  between  abroad  and  at  home;  with  her  large  indul- 
gence, which  no  ingratitude  can  discourage,  and  no  servility  pervert? 
Everybody  has  heard  of  the  popular  old  lady— the  childless  widow 
of  a long-forgotten  lord.  Everybody  knows  Lady  Janet  Roy. 

But  who  knows  the  handsome  young  woman  sitting  on  her  right 
hand,  playing  with  her  luncheouBinstead  of  eating  it?  Nobody  really 
knows  her.  She  is  prettily  dressed  in  gray  poplin,  trimmed  with  gray 
velvet,  and  set  off  by  a ribbon  of  deep  red  tied  in  a bow  at  the  throat. 
She  is  nearly  as  tall  as  Lady  Janet  herself,  and  possesses  a grace  and 
beauty  of  figure  not  always  seen  in  women  who  rise  above  the  medi- 
um height.  Judging  by  a certain  innate  grandeur  in  the  carriage  of 
her  head  and  in  the  expression  of  her  large  melancholy  gray  eyes, 
believers  in  blood  and  breeding  will  be  apt  to  guess  that  this  is  an- 
other noble  lady.  Alas!  she  is  nothing  but  Lady  Janet’s  companion 
and  reader.  Her  head,  crowned  with  its  lovely  light  brown  hair, 
bends  with  a gentle  respect  when  Lady  Janet  speaks.  Her  fine  firm 
hand  is  easily  and  incessantly  watchful  to  supply  Lady  Janet’s 
slightest  wants.  The  old  lady — affectionately  familiar  with  her— 
speaks  to  her  as  she  might  speak  to  an  adopted  child.  But  the 
gratitude  of  the  beautiful  companion  has  always  the  same  restraint 
in  its  acknowledgment  of  kindness;  the  smile  of  the  beautiful  com* 


36 


THE  HEW  MA.GDALEH. 


panioa  ims  always  tlie  same  iinderijing  sadaess  when  it  responds  to 
Lady  Janet’s  hearty  laugh.  Is  there  something  wrong  here,  under 
the  surface?  Is  she  suffering  in  m'ind,  or  suffering  in  body?  What 
is  the  matter  with  her? 

The  matter  with  her  is  secret  remose.  This  delicate  and  beautiful 
ceature  pines  under  the  slow  torment  of  constant  self-reproach.  To 
the  mistress  of  tfie  house,  and  to  all  who  inhabit  it  or  enter  it,  she  is 
known  as  Grace  Roseberry,  the  orphan  relative  by  marriage  of  Lady 
Janet  Roy.  To  herself  alone  she  is  known  as  the  outcast  of  the  Lon* 
don  streets;  the  inmate  of  the  London  Refuge;  the  lost  woman  who 
has  stolen  her  way  back — after  vainly  trying  to  fight  her  way  back 
— to  Home  and  IMame.  There  she  sits  in  the  grim  shadow  of  her 
own  terrible  secret,  disguised  in  another  person’s  identity,  and  es- 
tablished in  another  person’s  place.  Mercy  Merrick  had  only  to 
dare,  and  to  become  Grace  Roseberry  if  she  pleased.  She  has  dared, 
and  she  has  been  Grace  Roseberry  for  nearly  four  months  past. 

At  this  moment,  while  Lady  Janet  is  talking  to  Horace  Holm- 
croft,  something  that  has  passed  between  them  has  set  her  thinking 
of  the  day  when  she  took  the  first  fatal  step  which  committed  her  to 
the  fraud. 

How  marvelously  easy  of  accomplishment  the  act  of  personation 
had  been!  At  first  sight  Lady  Janet  had  yielded  to  the  fascination 
of  the  noble  and  interesting  face.  No  need  to  present  the  stolen 
letter:  no  need  to  repeat  the  ready-made  story.  The  old  lady  had 
put  the  letter  aside  unopened,  and  had  stopped  the  story  at  the  first 
words. 

“ Your  face  is  your  introduction,  my  dear;  your  father  can  say 
nothing  for  you  which  you  have,  not  already  said  for  yourself.  ” 
There  was  the  welcome  which  established  her  firmly  in  her  false 
identity  at  the  outset.  Thanks  to  her  own  experience,  and  thanks 
to  the  Journal”  of  events  at  Rome,  questions  about  her  life  in 
Canada  and  questions  about  Colonel  Roseberry’s  illness  found  her 
ready  with  answers  which  (even  if  suspicion  had  existed)  would, 
have  disarmed  suspicion  on  the  spot.  While  the  true  Grace  was 
slowly  and  painfully  winning  her  way  back  to  life  on  her  bed  in  a 
German  hospital,  the  false  Grace  was  presented  to  Lady  Janet’s 
friends  as  the  relative  of  the  mistress  of  Mablethorpe  House.  From 
that  time  forward  nothing  had  happened  to  rouse  in  her  the  faintest 
suspicion  that  Grace  Roseberry  was  other  than  a dead  and-buried 
woman.  So  far  as  she  now  knew— she  might  live  out  her  life  in 
perfect  security  (if  her  conscience  would  let  her),  respected,  distim 
guished,  and  beloved,  in  the  position  which  she  had  usurped. 


THE  HEW  MAGDA LEH. 


37 


She  rose  abruptly  from  the  table.  The  effort  of  her  life  was  to 
shake  herself  free  of  the  remembrances  which  haunted  her  perpetu* 
ally  as  they  were  haunting  her  now.  Her  memory  was  her  worst 
enemy;  her  oiie  refuge  from  it  was  in  change  of  occupation  and 
change  of  scene. 

“ May  I go  into  the  conservatory,  Jady  Janet she  asked. 

Certainly,  my  dear.” 

She  bent  her  head  to  her  protectress,  looked  for  a moment  with  a 
steady,  compassionate  attention  at  Horace  Holmcroft,  and,  slowly 
crossing  the  room,  entered  the  winter-garden.  The  eyes  of  Horace 
followed  her,  as  long  as  she  was  in  view,  with  a curious  contra- 
dictory expression  of  admiration  and  disapproval.  When  she  had 
passed  out  of  sight  the  admiration  vanished,  but  the  disapproved 
remained.  The  face  of  the  young  man  contracted  into  a frown:  he 
sat  silent,  with  his  fork  in  his  hand,  playing  absently  with  the 
fragments  on  his  plate. 

“ Take  some  French  pie,  Horace,”  said  Lady  Janet 

“ No,  thank  you.” 

” Some  more  chicken,  then?” 

” No  more  chicken.” 

“ Will  nothing  tempt  you?” 

” I will  take  some  more  wine,  if  you  will  allow  me.” 

He  filled  his  glass  (for  the  fifth  or  sixth  time)  with  claret,  and 
emptied  it  sullenly  at  a draught.  Lady  Janet’s  bright  eyes  watched 
him  with  sardonic  attention;  Lady  Janet’s  ready  tongue  spoke  out 
as  freely  as  usual  what  was  passing  in  her  mind  at  the  time. 

” The  air  of  Kensington  doesn’t  seem  to  suit  you,  my  young 
friend,”  she  said.  “The  longer  you  have  been  my  guest,  the 
oftener  you  fill  your  glass  and  empty  your  c:  gar-case.  Those  are 
bad  signs  in  a young  man.  When  you  first  came  here  you  arrived 
invalided  by  a wound.  In  your  place,  I should  not  have  exposed 
myself  to  be  shot,  with  no  other  object  in  view  than  describing  a 
battle  in  a newspaper.  I suppose  tastes  differ.  Are  you  ill?  Does 
your  wound  still  plague  you?” 

“ Not  in  the  least.” 

“ Are  you  out  of  spirits?” 

Horace  Holmcroft  dropped  his  fork,  rested  his  elbows  on  the  table, 
and  answered,  “ Awfully.” 

Even  Lady  Janet’s  large  toleration  had  its  limits.  It  embraced 
every  human  offense  except  a breach  of  good  manners.  She  snatched 
up  the  nearest  weapon  of  correction  at  hand— a tablespoon — and 


38 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH, 


rapped  her  youDp:  friend  smartly  with  it  on  the  arm  that  was  nearest 
to  her. 

“ My  table  is  not  the  club  table/’  said  the  old  lady.  ‘‘  Hold  up 
your  head.  Don’t  look  at  your  fork — look  at  me.  I allow  nobody 
to  be  out  of  spirits  in  My  house.  I consider  it  to  be  a reflection  on 
Me.  If  our  quiet  life  here  doesn’t  suit  you,  say  so  plainly,  and  find 
something  else  to  do.  There  is  employment  to  be  had,  I suppose — 
if  you  choose  to  apply  for  it?  You  needn’t  smile.  I don’t  want  to 
see  your  teeth — 1 want  an  answer.” 

Horace  admitted,  with  all  needful  gravity,  that  there  was  employ- 
ment to  be  had.  The  war  between  France  and  Germany,  he  re- 
marked, was  still  going  on:  the  newspaper  had  offered  to  employ 
him  again  in  the  capacity  of  correspondent. 

Don’t  speak  of  the  newspapers  and  the  war!”,  cried  Lady  Janet, 
with  a sudden  explosion  of  anger,  which  was  genuine  anger  this 
time.  ” I detest  the  newspapers!  I won’t  allow  the  newspapers  to 
enter  this  house.  I lay  the  whole  blame  of  the  blood  shed  between 
France  and  Germany  at  their  door. 

Horace’s  eyes  opened  wide  in  amzement.  The  old  lady  was  evi- 
dently in  earnest.  “ What  can  you  possibly  mean?”  he  asked. 
“ Are  the  newspapers  responsible  for  the  war?” 

Entirely  responsible,”  answered  Lady  Janet.  “ Why,  you  un- 
derstand the  age  you  live  in!  Does  anybody  do  anything  nowadays 
(fighting  included)  without  wishing  to  see  it  in  the  newspapers?  1 
subscribe  to  a charity;  thou  art  presented  with  a testimonial;  Jie 
preaches  a sermon;  toe  suffer  for  a grievance;  you  make  a discovery; 
they  go  to  church  and  get  married.  And  I,  thou,  he;  we,  you,  they, 
all  want  one  and  the  same  thing — we  want  to  see  it  in  the  papers. 
Are  kings,  soldiers,  and  diplomatists  exceptions  to  the  general  rule 
of  humanity?  Not  they!  I tell  you  seriously,  if  the  newspapers  of 
Europe  had  one  and  all  decided  not  to  take  the  smallest  notice  in 
print  of  the  war  between  France  and  Germany,  it  is  my  firm  con- 
viction the  war  would  have  come  to  an  end  for  want  of  encourage- 
ment long  since.  Let  the  pen  cease  to  advertise  the  sword,  and  I, 
for  one,  can  see  the  result.  No  report — no  fighting.” 

” Your  views  have  the  merit  of  perfect  novelty,  ma’am,”  said 
Horace.  Would  you  object  to  see  them  in  the  newspapers?” 

Lady  Janet  worsted  her  young  friend  with  his  own  weapons. 

“ Don’t  1 live  in  the  latter  part  of  the  nineteenth  century?”  she 
asked.  ” In  the  newspapers,  did  you  say?  In  large  type,  Horace, 
if  you  love  me!” 

Horace  changed  the  subject. 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


39 


“You  blame  me  for  being  out  of  spirits,”  he  said;  “and  you 
seem  to  think  it  is  because  I am  tired  of  my  pleasant  life  at  Mable- 
thorpe  House.  I am  not  in  the  least  tired,  Lady  Janet.  ” He  looked 
toward  the  conservatory : the  frown  showed  itself  on  his  face  once 
more.  “ The  truth  is,”  he  resumed,  “I  am  not  satisfied  with 
Grace  Roseberry.” 

“ What  has  Grace  done?” 

She  persists  in  prolonging  our  engagement.  Nothing  will  per- 
suade her  to  fix  the  day  for  our  marriage.” 

It  was  true!  Mercy  had  been  mad  enough  to  listen  to  him,  and 
to  love  him.  But  Mercy  was  not  vile  enough  to  marry  him  under 
her  false  character,  and  in  her  false  name.  Between  three  and  four 
months  had  elapsed  since  Horace  had  been  sent  home  from  the  war, 
wounded,  and  had  found  the  beautiful  Englishwoman  whom  he  had 
befriended  in  France  established  at  Mablethorpe  House.  Invited  to 
become  Lady  Janet’s  guest  (he  had  passed  his  holidays  as  a school- 
boy under  Lady  Janet’s  roof) — free  to  spend  the  idle  time  of  his 
convalescence  from  morning  till  night  in  Mercy’s  society — the  im- 
pression originally  produced  on  him  in  the  French  cottage  soon 
strengthened  into  love.  Before  the  month  was  out  Horace  had  de- 
clared himself,  and  had  discovered  that  he  spoke  to  willing  ears. 
From  that  moment  it  was  only  a question  of  persisting  long  enough 
in  the  resolution  to  gain  his  point.  The  marriage  engagement  was 
ratified— most  reluctantly  on  the  lady’s  side — and  there  the  further 
progress  of  Horace  Holmcroft’s  suit  came  to  an  end.  Try  as  he 
might,  he  failed  to  persuade  his  betrothed  wife  to  fix  the  day  for  the 
marriage.  There  were  no  obstacles  in  her  way.  She  had  no  near 
relations  of  her  own  to  consult.  As  a connection  of  Lady  Janet’s 
by  marriage,  Horace’s  mother  and  sisters  \yere  ready  to  receive  her 
with  all  the  honors  due  to  a new  member  of  the  family.  No  pe- 
cuniary considerations  made  it  necessary,  in  this  case,  to  wait  for  a 
favorable  time.  Horace  was  an  only  son;  and  he  had  succeeded  to 
his  father’s  estate  with  an  ample  income  to  support  it.  On  both 
sides  alike  there  was  absolutely  nothing  to  prevent  the  two  young 
people  from  being  married  as  soon  as  the  settlements  could  be 
drawn.  And  yel,  to  all  appearance,  here  was  a long  engagement 
in  prospect,  with  no  better  reason  than  the  lady’s  incomprehensible 
perversity  to  explain  the  delay. 

“ Can  you  account  for  Grace’s  conduct?”  asked  Lady  Janet. 
Her  manner  changed  as  she  put  the  question.  She  looked  and  spok« 
like  a person  who  was  perplexed  and  annoyed. 

“ I hardly  like  to  own  it,”  Horace  answered,  “ but  I am  afraid 


40 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


she  has  some  motive  for  deferring  our  marriage  which  she  cannot 
confide  either  to  you  or  to  me.’’ 

Lady  Janet  started. 

“ What  makes  you  think  that?”  she  asked. 

” 1 have  once  or  twice  caught  her  in  tears.  Every  now  and  then 
—sometimes  when  she  is  talking  quite  gayly — she  suddenly  chan5:es 
color  and  becomes  silent  and  depressed.  Just  now,  when  she  left 
the  table  (didn’t  you  notice  it?),  she  looked  at  me  in  the  strangest 
way— almost  as  if  she  was  sorry  for  me.  What  do  these  things 
mean?” 

Horace’s  reply,  instead  of  increasing  Lady  Janet’s  anxiety, 
seemed  to  relieve  it.  He  had  observed  nothing  which  she  had  not 
noticed  herself.  ‘‘You  foolish  boy!”  she  said,  the  meaning  is 
plain  enough.  Grace  has  been  out  of  health  for  some  time  past. 
The  doctor  recommends  change  of  air.  I shall  take  her  away  with 
me.” 

” It  would  be  more  to  the  purpose,”  Horace  rejoined,  ” if  I took 
her  away  with  me.  She  might  consent,  if  you  would  only  use  your 
influence.  Is  it  asking  too  much  to  ask  you  to  persuade  her?  My 
mother  and  my  sisters  have  written  to  her,  and  have  produced  no 
effect.  Do  me  the  greatest  of  all  kindnesses — speak  to  her  to-day!” 
He  paused,  and  possessing  himself  of  Lady  Janet’s  hand,. pressed 
it  entreatingly.  ” You  have  always  been  so  good  to  me,”  he  said, 
softly,  and  pressed  it  again. 

The  old  lady  looked  at  him.  It  was  impossible  to  dispute  that 
there  were  attractions  in  Horace  Holmcrofi’s  face  which  made  it  well 
worth  looking  at.  Many  a woman  might  have  envied  him  his  clear 
complexion,  his  bright  blue  eyes,  and  the  warm  amber  tint  in  his 
light  Saxon  hair.  Men— especially  men  skilled  in  observing  phys- 
iognomy— might  have  n'oticed  in  the  shape  of  his  forehead  and  in 
the  line  of  his  upper  lip  the  signs  indicative  of  a moral  nature  de- 
ficient in  largeness  and  breadth— of  a mind  easily  accessible  to 
strong  prejudices,  and  obstinate  in  maintaining  those  prejudices  in 
the  face  of  conviction  itself.  To  the  observation  of  women  tlu?se 
remote  defects  were  too  far  belcnv  the  surface  to  be  visible.  He 
charmed  the  sex  in  general  by  his  rare  personal  advantages,  and  by 
the  graceful  deference  of  his  manner,  To  Lady  Janet  he  was  en 
deared,  not  by  his  own  merits  only,  but  by  old  associations  that 
were  connected  with  him.  His  father  had  been  one  of  her  many 
admirers  in  her  young  days.  Circumstances  had  parted  them.  Her 
marriage  to  another  man  had  been  a childless  marriage.  In  past 
times,  when  the  boy  Horace  had  come  to  her  from  school,  she  ha.? 


THE  HEW  MAGBALEH. 


41 


cherivihed  a secret  fancy  (too  absurd  to  be  communicated  to  any  liv- 
ing creature)  that  he  ought  to  have  been  ker  son,  and  might  have 
been  her  son,  if  she  had  married  his  father!  She  smiled  charming- 
ly, old  as  she  was— she  yielded  as  his  mother  might  have  yielded-— 
when  the  young  man  took  her  hand  and  entreated  her  to  interest 
herself  in  his  marriage.  “ Must  I really  speak  to  Grace?”  she 
asked,  with  a gentleness  of  tone  and  manner  far  from  characteristic, 
on  ordinary  occasions,  of  the  lady  of  Mablethorpe  House.  Horace 
saw  that  he  had  gained  bis  point,  lie  sprang  to  his  feet ; his  eyes 
turned  eagerly  in  the  direction  of  the  conservatory;  his  handsome 
face  was  radiant  with  hope.  Lady  Janet  (with  her  mind  full  of  his 
father)  stole  a "last  look  at  him,  sighed  as  she  thought  of  the  van- 
ished days,  and  recovered  herself. 

“ Go  to  the  smoking-room,”  she  said,  giving  him  a push  toward 
the  door.  Away  with  you,  and  cultivate  the  favorite  vice  of  the 
nineteenth  century.”  Horace  attempted  to  express  his  gralituda 
“ Go  and  smoke!”  was  all  she  said,  pushing  him  out.  ‘‘Go  and 
smoke!”  Left  by  herself.  Lady  Janet  took  a turn  in  the  room,  and 
considered  a little. 

Horace’s  discontent  was  not  unreasonable.  There  was  really  no 
excuse  for  the  delay  of  which  he  complained.  Whether  the  young 
lady  had  a special  motive  for  hanging  back,  or  whether  she  was 
merely  fretting  because  she  did  not  know  her  own  mind,  it  was,  in 
either  case,  necessary  to  come  to  a distinct  understanding,  sooner 
or  later,  on  the  serious  question  of  the  marriage.  The  difficulty 
was,  how  to  approach  the  subject  without  giving  offense.  “ 1 don’t 
understand  the  young  women  of  the  present  generation,”  thought 
Lady  Janet.  “ In  my  time,  when  we  were  fond  of  a man,  we  were 
ready  to  marry  him  at  a moment’s  notice.  And  this  is  an  age  of 
/ progress!  They  ought  to  be  readier  still.” 

Arriving,  by  her  own  process  of  induction,  at  this  inevitable  con 
elusion,  she  decided  to  try  what  her  influence  could  accomplish,  and 
to  trust  to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment  for  exerting  it  in  the  right 
way.  ” Grace!”  she  called  out,  approaching  the  conservatory  door. 
The  tall  lithe  figure  in  its  gray  dress  glided  into  view,  and  stood  re- 
lieved against  the  green  background  of  the  winter-garden. 

” Did  your  ladyship  call  me?” 

” Yes;  1 want  to  speak  to  you.  Come  and  sit  down  by  me.” 

With  these  words  Lady  Janet  led  the  way  to  a sofa,  and  placed 
lier  companion  by  her  side. 


42 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH, 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

THE  MAN  IS  COMING. 

“ You  look  very  pale  this  morning,  my  child.” 

Mercy  sighed  wearily.  “ 1 am  not  well,”  she  answered.  ” The 
slightest  noises  startle  me.  I feel  tired  if  I only  walk  across  the 
room.” 

Lady  Janet  patted  her  kindly  on  the  shoulder.  “ We  must  try 
what  a change  will  do  for  you.  Which  shall  it  be?  the  Continent 
or  the  sea-side?” 

“ Your  ladyship  is  too  kind  to  me.” 

” It  is  impossible  to  be  too  kind  to  you.” 

Mercy  started.  The  color  flowed  charmingly  over  her  pale  face. 
“Oh!”  she  exclaimed,  impulsively.  “ Say  that  again!” 

“ Say  it  again?”  repeated  Lady  Janet,  with  a look  of  surprise. 

“ Yes!  Don’t  think  me  presuming;  only  think  me  vain.  I can’t 
hear  you  say  too  often  that  you  have  learned  to  like  me.  Is  it 
really  a pleasure  to  you  to  have  me  in  the  house?  Have  I always 
behaved  well  since  1 have  been  with  you?” 

(The  one  excuse  for  the  act  of  perBonation-<^if  excuse  there  could 
be — lay  in  the  affirmative  answer  to  those  questions.  It  would  be 
something,  surely,  to  say  of  the  false  Grace  that  the  true  Grace  could 
not  have  been  worthier  of  her  welcome,  if  the  true  Grace  had  been 
received  at  Mablethorpe  House!) 

Lady  Janet  was  partly  touched,  partly  amused,  by  the  ex- 
traordinary earnestness  of  the  appeal  that  had  been  made  to  her. 

” Have  you  behaved  well?”  shd  repeated.  “ My  dear,  you  talk  as 
if  you  were  a child!”  She  laid  her  hand  caressingly  on  Mercy’s 
arm,  ahd  continued,  in  a graver  tone:  ‘‘It  is  hardly  too  much  to 
say,  Grace,  that  I bless  the  day  when  you  first  came  to  me.  I do 
believe  I could  be  hardly  fonder  of  you  if  you  were  my  own  daugh- 
ter.” Mercy  suddenly  turned  her  head  aside,  so  as  to  hide  her  face. 
Lady  Janet,  still  touching  her  arm,  felt  it  tremble.  “ What  is  the 
matter  with  you?”  she  asked,  in  an  abrupt,  downright  manner.  ” I 
am  only  very  grateful  to  your  ladyship— that  is  all.” 

The  words  were  spoken  faintly,  in  broken  tones.  The  face  was 
still  averted  from  Lady  Janet’s  view.  “ What  have  I said  to  pro- 
voke this?”  wondered  the  old  lady.  “ la  she  in  the  melting  mood 
to-day?  If  she  is,  now  is  the  time  to  say  a word  for  Iloracel” 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


43 


Keeping  that  excellent  object  in  view,  Lady  Janet  approached  the 
delicate  topic  with  all  needful  caution  at  starting. 

'‘We  have  got  on  so  well  together,”  she  resumed,  “ that  it  will 
not  be  easy  for  either  of  us  to  feel  reconciled  to  a change  in  our  lives. 
At  my  age,  it  will  fall  hardest  on  me.  What  shall  I do,  Grace, 
when  the  day  comes  for  parting  with  my  adopted  daughter?” 

Mercy  started,  and  showed  her  face  again.  The  traces  of  tears 
were  in  her  eyes.  ” Why  should  I leave  you?”  she  asked,  in  a tone 
of  alarm. 

“ Surely  you  know  I”  exclaimed  Lady  Janet 

“ Indeed  1 d^’t.  Tell  me  why.” 

“ Ask  Horace  to  tell  you.  ” 

The  last  allusion  was  too  plain  to  be  misunderstood.  Mercy's 
head  drooped.  She  began  to  tremble  again.  Lady  Janet  looked 
at  her  in  blank  amazement. 

” Is  there  anything  wrong  between  Horace  and  you?”  she  asked. 

“Ho.” 

“You  know  your  own  heart,  my  dear  child?  You  have  surely 
not  encouraged  Horace  without  loving  him?” 

“ Oh  no!” 

“ And  yet—” 

For  the  first  time  in  their  experience  of  each  other  Mercy  ventured 
to  interrupt  her  benefactress.  “ Dear  Lady  Janet,”  she  interposed, 
gently,  “ 1 am  in  no  hurry  to  he  married.  There  will  be  plenty  o^ 
time  in  the  future  to  talk  of  that.  You  had  something  you  wishef 
to  say  to  me.  W^liat  is  it?” 

It  was  no  easy  matter  to  disconcert  Lady  Janet  Roy.  But  tha.t 
last  question  fairly  reduced  her  to  silence.  After  all  that  had  passed, 
there  sat  her  young  companion,  innocent  of  the  faintest  suspicion 
of  the  subject  that  was  to  be  discussed  between  them ! “ What  are 

the  young  women  of  the  present  lime  made  of?”  thought  the  old 
lady,  utterly  at  a loss  to  know  what  to  say  next.  Mercy  waited,  on 
her  side,  with  an  impenetrable  patience  which  only  aggravated  the 
difficulties  of  the  position.  The  silence  was  fast  threatening  to  bring 
the  interview  to  a sudden  and  untimely  end,  when  the  door  from  the 
library  opened,  and  a man-servant,  bearing  a little  silver  salver,  en- 
tered the  room. 

Lady  Janet’s  rising  sense  of  annoyance  instantly  seized  on  the 
servant  as  a victim.  “ What  do  you  want?”  she  asked,  sharply. 
“ I never  rang  for  you.” 

“ A letter,  my  lady.  The  messenger  waits  for  an  answer.”  The 
man  presented  his  salver  with  the  letter  on  it,  and  withdrew. 


u 


THE  NEW  MAGHALEN. 


Lady  Janet  recognized  the  handwriting  on  the  address  with  a look 
of  surprise.  Excuse  me,  my  dear,’’  she  said,  pausing  with  her 
old-fashioned  courtesy,  before  she  opened  the  envelope.  Mercy 
made  the  necessary  acknowledgment,  and  moved  away  to  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  little  thinking  that  the  arrival  of  the  letter  marked 
a crisis  in  her  life.  Lady  Janet  put  on  her  spectacles.  “ Odd  that 
he  should  have  come  back  already!”  she  said  to  herself , as  she  threw 
the  empty  envelope  on  the  table. 

The  letter  contained  these  lines,  the  writer  of  them  being  no  other 
than  the  man  who  had  preached  in  the  chapel  of  the  Refuge: 

“ Dear  Aunt, — I am  back  again  in  Loudon  before  my  time.  My 
friend  the  rector  has  shortened  his  holiday,  and  has  resumed  his  du- 
ties in  the  country.  I am  afraid  you  will  blame  me  when  you  hear 
of  the  reasons  which  have  hastened  his  return.  The  sooner  I make 
my  confession,  the  easier  I shall  feel.  Besides,  I have  a special  ob- 
ject in  wishing  to  see  you  as  soon  as  possible.  May  I follow  my  let- 
ter to  Mablethorpe  House?  And  may  I present  a lady  to  you— a 
perfect  stranger— in  whom  I am  interested?  Pray  say  Yes,  by  the 
bearer,  and  oblige  your  affectionate  nephew,  Julian  Gray.” 

Lady  Janet  referred  again  suspiciously  to  the  sentence  in  the  let- 
ter which  alluded  to  the  “ lady.” 

Julian  Gray  was  her  only  surviving  nephew,  the  son  of  a favorite 
sister  whom  she  had  lost.  He  would  have  held  no  very  exalted 
position  in  the  estimation  of  his  aunt — who  regarded  his  views  in 
politics  and  religion  with  the  strongest  aversion — but  for  his  marked 
resemblance  to  his  mother.  This  pleaded  for  him  with  the  old  lady, 
aided  as  it  was  by  the  pride  that  she  secretly  felt  in  the  early  celeb- 
rity which  the  young  clergyman  had  achieved  as  a writer  and  a 
preacher.  Thanks  to  these  mitigating  circumstances,  and  to  Julian’s 
inexhaustible  good  humor,  the  aunt  and  the  nephew  generally  met 
on  friendly  terms.  Apart  from  what  she  called  “ his  detestable 
opinions,”  Lady  Janet  was  sufficiently  interested  in  Julian  to  feel 
some  curiosity  about  the  mysterious  ” lady  ” mentioned  in  the  let- 
ter. Had  he  determined  to  settle  in  life?  Was  his  choice  already 
made?  And  if  so,  would  it  prove  a choice  acceptable  to  the  family? 
Lady  Janet’s  bright  face  showed  signs  of  doubt  as  she  asked  herself 
that  last  question.  Julian’s  liberal  views  were  capable  of  leading 
him  to  dangerous  extremes.  His  aunt  shook  her  head  ominously  as 
she  rose  from  the  sofa  and  advanced  to  the  library  door. 

” Grace,”  she  said,  pausing  and  turning  round,  ” I have  a note  to 
write  to  my  nephew.  I shall  be  back  directly.  ” Mercy  approached 
her,  from  the  opposite  extremity  of  the  room,  with  an  exclamation 
of  stirprise. 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


45 


‘‘  'Your  nephew?”  she  repeated.  “ Your  ladyship  never  told  me 
you  had  a nephew.” 

Lady  Janet  laughed.  “ I must  have  had  it  on  the  tip  of  my 
tongue  to  tell  you,  over  and  over  again,”  she  said.  ” But  we  have 
had  so  many  things  to  talk  about— and,  to  own  the  truth,  my  nephew 
is  not  one  of  my  favorite  subjects  of  conversation.  I don’t  mean 
that  I dislike  him;  1 detest  his  principles,  m^^dear,  that’s  all.  How- 
ever, you  shall  form  your  own  opinion  of  him;  he  is  coming  to  see 
me  to- day.  Wait  here  till  I return;  1 have  something  more  to  say 
about  Horace.  ” ^ 

Mercy  opened  the  library  door  for  her,  closed  it  again,  and  walked 
slowly  to  and  fro  alone  in  the  room,  thinking. 

Was  her  mind  running  on  Lady  Janet’s  nephew?  No.  Lady 
Janet’s  brief  allusion  to  her  relative  had  not  led  her  into  alluding  to 
him  by  his  name.  Mercy  was  still  as  ignorant  as  ever  that  the 
preacher  at  the  Refuge  and  the  nephew  of  her  benefactress  were 
one  and  the  same  man.  Her  memory  was  busy  now  with  the  tribute 
which  Lady  Janet  had  paid  to  her  at  the  outset  of  the  interview 
between  them : It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say,  Grace,  that  I bless 
the  day  when  you  first  came  to  me.’'  For  the  moment  there  was 
balm  for  her  wounded  spirit  in  the  remembiance  of  those  words. 
.Grace  Roseberry  herself  could  surely  have  earned  no  sweeter  praise 
than  the  praise  that  she  had  won.  The  next  instant  she  was  seized 
with  a sudden  horror  of  her  own  successful  fraud.  The  sense  of 
her  degradation  had  never  been  so  bitterly  present  to  her  as  at  that 
moment.  If  she  could  only  confess  the  truth— if  she  could  inno^ 
cently  enjoy  her  harmless  life  at  Mablethorpe  House — what  a grate- 
ful, happy  woman  she  might  be!  Was  it  possible  (if  she  made  the 
confession)  to  trust  to  her  own  good  conduct  to  plead  her  excuse? 
No!  Her  calmer  sense  warned  her  that  it  was  hopeless.  The  place 
she  had  won — honestly  wmn— in  Lady  Janet’s  estimation  had  been 
obtained  by  a trick.  Nothing  could  alter,  nothing  could  excuse 
that.  She  took  out  her  handkerchief  and  dashed  away  the  useless 
tears  that  had  gathered  in  her  eyes,  and  tried  to  turn  lier  thoughts 
some  other  way.  What  was  it  Lady  Janet  had  said  on  going  into 
the  library?  She  had  said  she  was  coming  back  to  speak  about 
Horace.  Mercy  guessed  what  the  object  was;  she  knew  but  too 
well  what  Horace  wanted  of  her.  How  was  she  to  meet  the  emer- 
gency? In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  was  to  be  done?  Could  she 
let  the  man  who  loved  her— the  man  whom  she  loved— drift  blind- 
fold into  marriage  ^ ith  such  a woman  as  she  had  been?  No!  it  w^as 
her  duty  to  warn  him.  How?  Could  she  break  his  heart,  could 


46 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


she  lay  his  life  waste  by  speaking  the  cruel  words  which  might  part 
them  forever?  “I  can’t  tell  him!  I won’t  tell  him!”  she  burst 
out,  passionately.  “ The  disgrace  of  it  would  kill  me!”  Hervary^ 
ing  mood  changed  as  the  words  escaped  her.  A reckless  defiance  of 
her  own  better  nature — that  saddest  of  all  the  forms  in  which  a 
woman’s  misery  can  express  itself — filled  her  heart  with  its  poison- 
ing bitterness.  She  sat  down  again  on  the  sofa  with  eyes  that  glit- 
tered and  cheeks  suffused  with  an  angry  red.  “ I am  no  worse  than 
another  woman!”  she  thought.  ‘‘Another  woman  might  have 
married  him  for  his  money.”  The  next  moment  the  miserable  in- 
suflSciency  of  her  own  excuse  for  deceiving  him  showed  its  hollow- 
ness, self  exposed.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  found 
refuge — where  she  had  often  found  refuge  before — in  the  helpless 
resignation  of  despair.  ” Oh,  that  I had  died  before  I entered  this 
house!  Oh,  that  I could  die  and  have  done  with  it  at  this  moment!” 
So  the  struggle  had  ended  with  her  hundreds  of  times  already.  So 
it  ended  now. 

The  door  leading  into  the  billiard-room  opened  softly.  Horace 
Holrncroft  had  waited  to  hear  the  result  of  Lady  Janet’s  interfer- 
ence in  his  favor  until  he  could  wait  no  longer.  He  looked  in  cau- 
tiously, ready  to  withdraw  again  unnoticed  if  the  two  were  still 
talking  together.  Tbe  absence  of  Lady  Janet  suggested  that  the  in- 
terview had  come  to  an  end.  Was  his  betrothed  wife  waiting  alone 
to  speak  to  him  on  his  return  to  the  room?  He  advanced  a few 
steps.  She  never  moved;  she  sat  heedless,  absorbed  in  her 
thoughts.  Were  thej"  thoughts  of  Mmf  He  advanced  a little 
nearer,  and  called  to  her.  ‘‘  Grace!” 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  with  a faint  cry.  “ I wish  you  wouldn’t 
startle  me,”  she  said,  irritably,  sinking  back  on  the  sofa.  “ Any 
sudden  alarm  sets  my  heart  beating  as  if  it  would  choke  me.” 

Horace  pleaded  for  pardon  with  a lover’s  humility.  In  her  pres- 
ent state  of  nervous  irritation  she  was  not  to  be  appeased.  She 
looked  away  from  him  in  silence.  Entirely  ignorant  of  the  par- 
oxysm of  mental  suffering  through  which  she  had  just  passed,  he 
seated  himself  by  her  side,  and  asked  her  gently  if  she  had  seen 
Lady  Janet.  She  made  an  affirmative  answer  with  an  unreasonable 
impatience  of  tone  and  manner  which  would  have  warned  an  older 
and  more  experienced  man  to  give  her  time  before  he  spoke  again. 
Horace  was  young,  ami  weary  of  the  suspense  that  he  had  endured 
in  the  other  room.  He  unwisely  pressed  her  with  another  question: 
“ Has  Lady  Janet  said  anything  to  you — ” 

She  turned  on  him  angrily  before  he  could  finish  the  sentence. 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH, 


47 


**  You  have  tried  to  make  her  hurry  me  into  marrying  you/'  she 
burst  out.  I see  it  in  your  face!’'  Plain  as  the  warning  was,  this 
time,  Horace  still  failed  to  interpret  it  in  the  right  way.  “ Don’t  be 
angry!”  he  said,  good-humoredly.  ‘‘Is  it  so  very  inexcusable  to 
ask  Lady  Janet  to  intercede  for  me?  I have  tried  to  persuade  you 
in  vain.  My  mother  and  my  sisters  liave  pleaded  for  me,  and  you 
turn  a deaf  ear — ' 

She  could  endure  it  no  longer.  She  stamped  her  foot  on  the  floor 
with  hysterical  vehemence.^  “lam  weary  of  hearing  of  your  mother 
and  your  sisters!”  she  broke  in  violently.  “You  talk  of  nothing 
else.” 

It  was  just  possible  to  make  one  more  mistake  in  dealing  with  her 
— and  Horace  made  it.  He  took  offense,  on  his  side,  and  rose  from 
the  sofa.  His  mother  and  sisters  were  high  authorities  in  his  esti- 
mation; they  variously  represented  his  ideal  of,  perfection  in  women. 
He  withdrew  to  the  opposite  extremity  of  the  room,  and  adminis- 
tered the  severest  reproof  that  he  could  think  of  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment. 

“ It  would  be  w^ell,  Grace,  if  you  followed  the  example  set  you 
by  my  mother  and  my  sisters,”  he  said.  “ They  are  not  in  the  habit 
of  speaking  cruelly  to  thovse  who  love  them.” 

To  all  appearance  the  rebuke  failed  to  produce  the  slightest  effect. 
She  seemed  to  be  as  indifferent  to  it  as  if  it  had  not  reached  her 
ears.  There  was  a spirit  in  her — a miserable  spirit,  born  of  her  own 
bitter  experience — which  rose  in  revolt  against  Horace's  habitual 
glorification  of  the  ladies  of  his  family.  “It  sickens  me,”  she 
thought  to  herself,  “ to  hea^rof  the  virtues  of  women  who  have  never 
been  tempted!  Where  is  the  merit  of  living  reputably,  when  your 
life  is  one  course  of  prosperity  and  enjoyment?  Has  his  mother 
known  starvation?  Have  his  sisters  been  left  forsaken  in  the  street?” 
It  hardened  her  heart—it  almost  reconciled  her  to  deceiving  him — 
when  he  set  his  relatives  up  as  patterns  for  her.  Would  he  ne^er 
understand  that  women  detested  having  other  women  exhibited  as 
examples  to  them?  She  looked  round  at  him  with  a sense  of  impa- 
tient wonder.  He  was  sitting  at  the  luncheon-table,  with  his  back 
turned  on  her,  and  his  head  resting  on  his  hand.  If  he  had  attempt- 
ed to  rejoin  her,  she  would  have  repelled  him;  if  he  had  spoken, 
she  would  have  met  him  with  a sharp  reply.  He  sat  apart  from  her, 
without  uttering  a word.  In  a man’s  hands  silence  is  the  most  ter- 
rible of  all  protest  to  the  woman  who  loves  him.  Violence  she  can 
endure.  Words  she  is  always  ready  to  meet  by  words  on  her  side. 
Silence  conquers  her.  After  a moment's  liesitation,  Mercy  left  the 


48 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEl^. 


sofa  and  advanced  submissively  toward  the  table.  She  had  offend 
ed  him — and  she  alone  was  in  fault.  How  should  he  know  it,  poor 
fellow,  when  he  innocently  mortitied  her?  Step  by  step  she  drew 
closer  and  closer.  He  never  looked  round;  he  never  moved.  She 
laid  her  hand  timidly  on  his  shoulder.  “ Forgive  me,  Horace,  ' 
she  whispered  in  his  ear.  ‘‘I  am  suffering  this  morning;  I am 
not  myself.  1 didn’t  mean  what  1 said.  Pray  forgive  me.” 
There  was  no  resisting  the  can  ssing  tenderness  of  vx)ice  and  man- 
ner which  accompanied  those  words.  He  looked  up;  he  took  her 
hand.  She  bent  over  him,  and  touched  his  forehead  with  her  lips. 
“ Am  I forgiven?”  she  asked. 

“Oh,  my  darling,”  he  said,  “if  you  only  knew  how  I loved 
you!” 

“ 1 do  know  it,”  she  answered  gently,  twining  his  hair  round  her 
finger,  and  arranging  it  over  his  forehead  where  his  hand  had 
ruffled  it.  They  were  completely  absorbed  in  each  other,  or  they 
must,  at  that  moment,  have  heard  the  library  door  open  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room. 

Lady  Janet  had  written  the  necessary  reply  to  her  nephew,  and 
had  returned,  faithful  to  her  engagement,  to  plead  the  cause  of  Hor- 
ace. The  first  object  that  met  her  view  was  her  client  pleading, 
with  conspicuous  success,  for  himself!  “ I am  not  wanted,  evi- 
dently,” thought  the  old  lady.  She  noiselessly  closed  the  door 
again,  and  left  the  lovers  by  themselves.  Horace  returned,  with 
unwise  persistency,  to  the  question  of  the  deferred  marriage.  At 
the  first  words  that  he  spoke  she  drew  back  directly— sadly,  not 
angrily. 

“ Don’t  press  me  to-day,”  she  said;  “ I am  not  well  to-day.” 

He  rose  and  looked  at  her  anxiously.  “ May  I speak  about  it  to- 
morrow?” 

“Yes,  to-morrow.”  She  returned  to  the  sofa,  and  changed  the 
subject.  “ What  a time  Lady  Janet  is  away!”  she  said.  “ What 
can  be  keeping  her  so  long?”  Horace  did  his  best  to  appear  inter- 
ested in  th«  question  of  Lady  Janet’s  prolonged  absence.  “ W’hat 
made  her  leave  you?”  he  asked,  standing  at  the  back  of  the  sofa 
and  leaning  over  her. 

“ She  went  into  the  library  to  write  a note  to  her  nephew.  By- 
the-bye,  who  is  her  nephew?” 

“ Is  it  possible  you  don’t  know?” 

“ Inderd  I don’t.” 

“You  have  heard  of  him,  no  doubt,”  said  Horace.  “Lady 
Janet’s  nephew  is  a celebrated  man.”  He  paused,  and  stooping 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEN*. 


49 


nearer  to  her,  lifted  a lovelock  that  lay  over  her  shoulder,  and 
pressed  it  to  his  lips.  “ Lady  Janet’s  nephew,”  he  resumed,  ‘‘is 
Julian  Gray.”  She  started  off  her  seat,  and  looked  round  at  him  in 
blank,  bewildered  terror,  as  if  she  doubted  the  evidence  of  her  own 
senses.  Horace  was  completely  taken  by  surprise.  “ My  dear 
Grace!”  he  exclaimed;  “ what  have  I said  or  done  to  startle  you 
this  time?” 

Bhe  held  up  her  hand  for  silence.  “ Lady  Janet’s  nephew  k 
•Julian  Gray,”  she  repeated;  ‘‘  and  I only  know  it  now!” 

Horace’s  perplexity  increased.  “ My  darling,  now  you  do  know 
It,  what  is  there  to  alarm  you?”  he  asked. 

(There  was  enough  to  alarm  the  boldest  women  living— in  such  a 
position,  and  with  such  a temperament  as  hers.  To  her  mind  the 
personation  of  Grace  Roseberry  had  suddenly  assumed  a new  aspect: 
the  aspect  of  a fatality.  It  had  led  her  blindfold  to  the  house  in 
which  she  and  the  preacher  at  the  Refuge  were  to  meet.  He  was 
coming — the  man  who  had  reached  her  inmost  heart,  who  had  influ- 
enced her  whole  life!  Was  the  day  of  reckoning  coming  with  him?) 

“Don’t  notice  me,”  she  said,  faintly.  “I  have  been  ill  all  the 
morning.  You  saw  it  yourself  when  you  came  inhere;  even  the 
sound  of  your  voice  alarmed  me.  I shall  be  better  directly.  I am 
afraid  I startled  you?” 

“ My  dear  Grace,  it  almost  looked  as  if  you  were  terrified  at  the 
Bound  of  Julian’s  name!  He  is  a public  celebrity,  I know;  and  I 
have  seen  ladies  start  and  stare  at  him  when  he  entered  a room. 
But  you  looked  perfectly  panic  stricken.” 

She  rallied  her  courage  by  a desperate  effort;  she  laughed — a 
harsh  uneasy  laugh— and  stopped  him  by  putting  her  hand  over  his 
mouth.  “Absurd!”  she  said,  lightly.  As  if  Mr.  Julian  Gray 
had  anything  to  do  with  m}'-  looks!  I am  better  already.  Sed  for 
yourself!”  She  looked  round  at  him  again  with  a ghastly  gayety; 
and  returned,  with  a desperate  assumption  of  indifference,  to  the 
subject  of  Lady  Janet’s  nephew.  “ Of  course  I have  heard  of  him,” 
she  said.  “ Do  you  know  that  he  is  expected  here  to-day?  Don’t 
stand  there  behind  me-  it’s  so  hard  to  talk  to  you.  Come  and  sit 
down.” 

He  obeyed— but  she  had  not  quite  satisfied  him  yet.  His  face  had 
not  lost  its  expression  of  anxiety  and  surprise.  She  persisted  in 
playing  her  part,  determined  to  set  at  rest  in  him  any  possible  suspi- 
cion that  she  had  reasons  of  her  own  for  being  afraid  of  Julian 
Gray.  “ Tell  me  about  this  famous  man  of  yours,”  she  said,  pub 
ting  her  arm  familiarly  through  his  arm.  “ What  is  he  like?”  Th^ 


50 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


caressing  wcWoh  and  the  easy  tone  had  their  effect  on  Horace.  Hi« 
face  began  to  ciear;  he  answered  her  lightly  on  his  side. 

“ Prepare  yourself  to  meet  the  most  unclerical  of  clergymen/’  he 
said.  “ Julian  is  a lost  sheep  among  the  parsons,  and  a thorn  in  the 
side  of  his  bishop.  Preaches,  if  they  ask  him,  in  Dissenters’  chapels. 
Declines  to  set  up  any  pretensions  to  priestly  authority  and  priestly 
power.  Goes  about  doing  good  on  a plan  of  his  own.  Is  quite  re- 
signed  never  to  rise  to  the  high  places  in  his  profession.  Says  it’s 
rising  high  enough  for  Mm  to  be  the  Archdeacon  of  the  afflicted,  the 
Dean  of  the  hungry,  and  the  Bishop  of  the  poor.  With  all  his 
oddities,  as  good  a fellow  as  ever  lived.  Immensely  popular  with 
the  women.  They  all  go  to  him  for  advice.  I wish  you  would  go 
too.” 

Mercy  chan ged  color.  * ‘ What  do  you  mean  ? ” she  asked,  sharply. 

” Julian  is  famous  for  his  powers  of  persuasion,  ” said  Horace, 
smiling.  ” If  spoke  to  you,  Grace,  he  would  prevail  on  you  to 
fix  the  day.  Suppose  I ask  Julian  to  plead  for  me?” 

He  made  the  proposal  in  jest.  Mercy’s  unquiet  mind  accepted  it 
as  addressed  to  her  in  earnest.  He  will  do  it,”  she  thought,  with 
a sense  of  indescribable  terror,  if  I don’t  stop  him!”  There  was 
but  one  chance  for  her.  The  only  certain  way  to  prevent  Horace 
from  appealing  to  his  friend  was  to  grant  what  Horace  wished  for 
before  his  friend  entered  the  house.  She  Jaid  her  hand  on  his 
«iioulder;  she  hid  the  terrible  anxieties  that  were  devouring  her 
>mder  an  assumption  of  coquetry,  painful  and  pitiable  to  see. 

Don’t  talk  nonsense!”  she  said,  gayly.  ” What  were  we  saying 
^ust  now— before  we  began  to  speak  of  Mr.  Julian  Gray?” 

” We  were  wondering  what  had  become  of  Jady  Janet,”  Horace 
replied. 

She  tapped  him  impatiently  on  the  shoulder.  ” No\  no!  It  was 
something  you  said  before  that.”  Her  eyes  completed  what  her 
words  had  left  unsaid.  Horace‘s  arm  stole  round  her  waist. 

“ I was  saying  that  I loved  you,”  he  answered,  in. a whisper. 

” Only  that?” 

” Are  you  tired  of  hearing  it?” 

She  smiled  charmingly.  “ Are  you  so  very  much  in  earnest 
nbout — about — ” She  stopped,  and  looked  away  from  him. 

” About  our  mariiage?” 

“Yes.” 

“ It  is  the  one  dearest  wish  of  my  life.” 

“ Really?” 

“ReaHy.” 


THE  HEW  MAGHALEH 


51 


There  was  a pause.  Mercy’s  fingers  toyed  nervously  with  the 
trinkets  ht  her  watch-chain.  “ When  would  you  like  it  to  be?”  she 
said,  very  softly,  with  her  whole  attention  fixed  on  the  watch-chain. 

She  had  never  spoken,  she  had  never  looked,  as  she  spoke  and 
looked  now.  Horace  was  afraid  to  believe  in  his  own  good  fortune. 
**  Oh,  Grace!”  he  exclaimed,  “ you  are  not  trifling  with  me?” 

“ What  makes  you  think  I am  trifling  with  you?” 

Horace  was  innocent  enough  to  answer  her  seriously.  You 
would  not  even  let  me  speak  of  our  marriage  just  now,”  he  said. 

“Nevermind  what  I did  just  now,”  she  retorted,  petulantly. 
“ They  say  women  are  changeable.  It  is  one  of  the  defects  of  the 
sex.'’ 

“Heaven  be  praised  for  the  defects  of  the  sex!”  cried  Horace, 
with  devout  sincerity.  “ Do  you  really  leave  me  to  decide?” 

“ If  you  insist  on  it.  ” 

Horace  considered  for  a moment—the  subject  being  the  law  of 
marriage.  “We  may  be  married  by  license  in  a fortnight,”  he 
said.  “ I fix  this  day  fortnight.”  She  held  up  her  hands  in  protest. 

“ Why  not?  My  lawyer  is  ready.  There  are  no  preparations  to 
make.  You  said  when  you  accepted  me  that  it  was  to  be  a pri- 
vate marriage.” 

Mercy  was  obliged  to  own  that  she  had  certainly  said  that. 

“We  might  be  married  at  once — if  the  law  would  only  let  us. 
This  day  fortnight!  Say— -Yes!”  He  drew  her  closer  to  him. 

There  was  a pause.  The  mask  of  coquetry — badly  worn  from 
the  first — dropped  from  her.  Her  sad  gray  eyes  rested  compas- 
sionately on  his  eager  face.  “Don’t  look  so  serious!”  he  said. 
“ Only  one  little  word,  Grace!  Only  Yes.” 

She  sighed,  and  said  it.  He  kissed  her  passionately.  It  was 
only  by  a resolute  effort  that  she  released  herself.  “Leave  me!” 
she  said,  faintly.  “ Pray  leave  me  by  myself!” 

She  was  in  earnest— strangely  in  earnest.  She  was  trembling 
frcrm  head  to  foot.  Horace  rose  to  leave  her.  “I  will  find  Lady 
Janet,”  he  said;  “1  long  to  show  the  dear  old  lady  that  I have 
recovered  my  spirits,  and  to  tell  her  why.”  He  turned  round  at  the 
library  door.  “ You  won’t  go  away?  You  will  let  me  see  you 
again  when  you  are  more  composed?” 

“ I will  wait  here,”  said  Mercy. 

Satisfied  with  that  reply,  he  left  the  room. 

Her  hands  dropped  on  her  lap ; her  head  sank  back  wearily  on 
the  cushions  at  the  head  of  the  sofa.  There  was  a dazed  sensation 
in  her:  her  mind  felt  stunned.  She  wondered  vacantly  whether  sh^ 


53 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


was  awake  or  dreaming.  Had  she  really  said  the  word  which 
pledged  her  to  marry  Horace  Holmcroft  in  a fortnight?  A fort- 
night! Something  might  happen  in  that  time  to  prevent  it : she 
might  find  her  way  in  a fortnight  out  of  the  terrible  position  in 
which  she  stood.  Any  way,  come  what  might  of  it.  she  had  chosen 
the  preferable  alternative  to  a private  interview  with  Julian  Gray. 
She  raised  herself  from  her  recumbent  position  with  a start,  as  th€» 
idea  of  the  interview— dismissed  for  the  last  few  minutes-— possessed 
itself  again  of  her  mind.  Her  excited  imagination  figured  Julian 
Gray  as  present  in  the  room  at  that  moment,  speaking  to  her  as 
Horace  had  proposed.  She  saw  him  seated  close  at  her  side — this 
man  who  had  shaken  her  to  the  soul  when  he  was  in  the  pulpit, 
and  when  she  was  listening  to  him  (unseen)  at  the  other  end  of  the 
chapel — she  saw  him  close  by  her,  looking  her  searchingly  in  the 
race;  seeing  her  shameful  secret  in  her  eyes;  hearing  it  in  her  voice; 
feeling  it  in  her  trembling  hands ; forcing  it  out  of  her  word  by 
word,  till  she  fell  prostrate  at  his  feet  with  the  confession  of  the 
fraud.  Her  head  dropped  again  on  the  cushions,  she  hid  her  face 
in  horror  of  the  scene  which  her  excited  fancy  had  conjured  up. 
Even  now,  when  she  had  made  that  dreaded  fiiterview  needless, 
could  she  feel  sure  (meeting  him  only  on  the  most  distant  terms)  of 
not  betraying  herself?  She  could  not  feel  sure.  Something  in  her 
shuddered  and  shrank  at  the  bare  idea  of  finding  herself  in  the  same 
room  with  him.  She  felt  it,  she  knew  it:  her  guilty  conscience 
owned  and  feared  its  master  in  Julian  Gray!  The  minutes  passed. 
The  violence  of  her  agitation  began  to  tell  physically  on  her 
weakened  frame.  She  found  herself  crying  silently  without  know- 
ing why.  A weight  was  on  her  head,  a weariness  was  in  all  lier 
limbs.  She  sank  lower  on  the  cushions— her  eyes  closed— the  mo- 
notonous ticking  of  the  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  grew  drowsily 
fainter  and  fainter  on  her  ear.  Little  by  little  she  dropped  into 
slumber— slumber  so  light  that  she  started  when  a morsel  of  coai 
fell  into  the  grate,  or  when  the  birds  chirped  and  twittered  in  their 
aviary  in  the  winter-garden. 

Lady  Janet  and  Horace  came  in.  She  was  faintly  conscious  of 
persons  in  the  room.  After  an  interval  she  opened  her  eyes,  and 
half  rose  to  speak  to  them..  The  room  was  empty  again.  They 
had  stolen  out  softly,  and  left  her  to  repose.  Her  eyes  closed  once 
more.  She  dropeed  back  into  slumber,  and  from  slumber,  in  the 
favoring  warmth  and  quite  of  the  place,  into  deep  and  dreamless 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


53 


CHAPTER  YIIl. 

THE  MAN  APPEARS. 

After  an  interval  of  rest  Mercy  was  aroused  by  the  shutting  of  a 
glass  door  at  the  far  end  of  the  conservatory.  This  door,  leading 
into  the  garden,  was  used  only  by  the  inmates  of  the  bouse,  or  by 
old  friends  privileged  to  enter  the  reception  rooms  by  that  way. 
Assuming  that  either  Horace  or  Lady  Janet  was  returning  to  the 
dining-room,  Mercy  raised  herself  a little  on  the  sofa  and  listened. 
The  voice  of  one  of  the  men-servants  caught  her  ear.  It  was  an- 
swered by  another  voice,  which  instantly  set  her  trembling  in  every 
limb. 

She  started  up,  and  listened  again  in  speechless  terror.  Yes! 
there  was  no  mistaking  it.  The  voice  that  was  answering  the  serv- 
ant was  the  unforgotten  voice  which  she  had  heard  at  the  Refuge. 
The  visitor  who  had  come  in  by  the  glass  door  was— Julian  Gray! 
His  rapid  footsetps  advanced  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  dining-room. 
She  recovered  herself  sufficiently  to  hurry  to  the  library  door.  Her 
hand  shook  so  that  she  failed  at  first  to  open  it.  She  had  just  suc- 
ceeded when  she  heard  him  again — speaking  to  her. 

‘‘  Fray,  don’t  run  away!  I am  nothing  very  formidable.  Only 
Lady  Janet’s  nephew— Julian  Gray.' 

She  turned  slowly,  spell-bound  by  his  voice,  and  confronted  him 
in  silence.  He  was  standing,  hat  in  hand,  at  the  entrance  to  the 
conservatory,  dressed  in  black,  and  wearing  a white  cravat,  but  with 
a studious  avoidance  of  anything  specially  clerical  in  the  make  and 
form  of  his  clothes.  Young  as  he  was,  there  W'ere  marks  of  care 
already  on  his  face,  and  the  hair  was  prematurely  thin  and  scanty 
over  his  forehead.  His  slight  active  figure  was  of  no  more  than 
the  middle  height.  His  complexion  was  pale.  The  lower  part  of 
his  face,  without  beard  or  whiskers,  was  in  no  way  remarkable. 
An  average  observer  would  have  passed  him  by  without  notice — 
but  for  his  eyes.  These  alone  made  a marked  man  of  him.  The 
unusual  size  of  the  orbits  in  which  they  were  set  was  enough  of  it- 
self to  attract  attention;  it  gave  a grandeur  to  his  head,  which  the 
head,  broad  and  firm  as  it  was,  did  not  possess.  As  to  the  eyes 
themselves,  the  soft  lustrous  brightness  of  them  defied  analysis.  IST^ 
two  people  could  agree  about  their  color;  divided  opinion  declaring 
alternately  that  they  were  dark  gray  or  black.  Painters  had  tried 


64 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


to  reproduce  them,  and  had  given  up  the  effort,  in  despair  of  sek. 
ing  any  one  expression  in  the  bewildering  variety  of  expressions 
which  they  presented  to  view.  They  were  eyes  that  could  charm 
at  one  moment  and  terrify  at  another;  eyes  that  could  set  people 
laughirg  or  crying  almost  at  will.  In  action  and  in  repose  they 
were  irresistible  alike.  When  they  first  descried  Mercy  running  to 
the  door,  they  brightened  gayly  with  the  merriment  of  a child. 
When  she  turned  and  faced  him,  they  changed  instantly,  soft- 
ening and  glowing  as  they  mutely  owned  the  interest  and  the  admira- 
tion which  the  first  sight  of  her  had  roused  in  him.  His  tone  and 
manner  altered  at  the  same  time.  He  addressed  her  with  the  deep- 
est respect  when  he  spoke  his  next  words. 

“Let  me  entreat  you  to  favor  me  by  resuming  your  seat,*’ he 
said.  “ And  let  me  ask  your  pardon  if  I have  thoughtlessly  intruded 
on  you.” 

He  paused,  waiting  for  her  reply,  before  he  advanced  into  the 
room.  Still  spell-bound  by  liis  voice,  she  recovered  self-control 
enough  to  bow  to  him  and  to  resume  her  place  on  the  sofa.  It  was 
impossible  to  leave  him  now.  After  looking  at  her  for  a moment, 
he  entered  the  room  without  speaking  to  her  again.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  perplex,  as  well  as  to  interest  him.  “ No  common  sor- 
row,” he  thought,  “ has  set  its  mark  on  that  woman’s  face; no  com. 
mon  heart  beats  in  that  woman’s  breast.  Who  can  she  be?” 
Mercy  rallied  her  courage,  and  forced  herself  to  speak  to  him. 

“ Lady  Janet  is  m the  library,  I believe,”  she  said,  timidly.  “ Shall 
I tell  her  you  are  here?” 

“ Don’t  disturb  Lady  Janet,  and  don’t  disturb  yourself.”  With 
that  answer  he  approached  the  luncheon  table,  delicately  giving  her 
time  to  feel  more  at  her  ease.  He  took  up  what  Horace  had  left 
of  the  bottle  of  claret,  and  poured  it  into  a glass.  “ My  aunt’s  claret 
shall  represent  my  aunt  for  the  present,”  he  said,  smiling,  as  he 
turned  toward  her  once  more.  “ I have  had  a long  walk,  and  I 
may  venture  to  help  it  myself  in  this  house  without  invitation.  Is 
it  useless  to  offer  you  anything?” 

Mercy  made  the  necessary  reply.  She  was  beginning  already, 
afler  her  remarkable  experience  of  him,  to  wonder  at  his  easy  man- 
ners and  his  light  way  of  talking.  He  emptied  his  glass  with  the  air 
c f a man  who  thoroughly  understood  and  enjoyed  good  wine.  “ My 
aunt’s  claret  is  worthy  of  my  aunt,”  he  said,  with  comic  gravity,  as 
he  set  down  the  glass.  “ Both  are  the  genuine  products  of  Nature.” 
He  seated  himself  at  the  table,  and  looked  critically  at  the  different 
dishes  ieff  on  it.  One  dish  especially  attracted  his  attention, 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEK. 


55 


“ What  is  this?’'  he  went  on.  “ A French  pie!  It  seems  grossly 
unfair  to  taste  French  wine,  and  to  pass  over  French  pie  without 
notice.”  He  took  up  a knife  and  fork,  and  enjoyed  the  pie  as  crit- 
ically as  he  had  enjoyed  the  wine.  “ Worthy  of  the  Great  Nation!” 
he  exclaimed,  with  enthusiasm.  ‘‘  Vive  la  France 

Mercy  listened  and  looked,  in  inexpressible  astonishment.  Hi* 
was  utterly  unlike  the  picture  which  her  fancy  had  drawn  of  him  in 
every-day  life.  Take  off  his  white  cravat,  and  nobody  would  have 
discovered  that  this  famous  preacher  was  a cleigyman ! He  helped 
himself  to  another  plateful  of  the  pie,  and  spoke  more  directly  to 
Mercy,  alternately  eating  and  talking  as  composedly  and  pleasantly 
as  if  they  had  known  each  other  for  years. 

“ 1 came  here  by  way  of  Kensington  Gardens,”  he  said.  ” For 
some  time  past  I have  been  living  in  a flat,  ugly,  barren,  agricultural 
district.  You  can't  think  how  pleasant  I found  the  picture  presented 
by  the  Garden,  as  a contrast.  The  ladies  in  their  rich  winter  dresses, 
the  smart  nursery  maids,  the  lovely  children,  the  ever* moving  crowd 
skating  on  the  ice  of  the  Round  Pond;  it  was  all  so  exhilarating 
after  what  1 have  been  used  to,  that  I actually  caught  myself 
whistling  as  I walked  through  the  brilliant  scene!  (In  my  time 
boys  used  always  to  whistle  wlien  they  were  in  good  spirits,  and  1 
have  not  got  over  the  habit  yet,)  who  do  you  think  I met  when  I 
was  in  full  song?” 

As  well  as  her  amazement  would  let  her,  Mercy  excused  herself 
from  guessing.  She  had  never  in  all  her  life  before  spoken  to  any 
living  being  so  confusedly  and  so  unintelligently  as  she  now  spoke 
to  Julian  Gray. 

He  went  on  more  gayly  than  ever,  without  appearing  to  notice  the 
effect  that  he  had  produced  on  her. 

Whom  did  1 meet,”  he  repeated,  “ when  I was  in  full  song? 
My  bishop!  If  1 had  been  whistling  a sacred  melody,  his  lordship 
might  perhaps  have  excused  my  vulgarity  out  of  consideration  for 
my  music.  Unfortunately,  the  composition  I was  executing  at  the 
moment  (I  am  one  of  the  loudest  of  living  whistlers)  was  by  Verdi — 

‘ La  Donna  a Mobile  ’ — familiar,  no  doubt,  to  his  lordship  on  the 
street  organs.  He  recognized  the  tune,  poor  man,  and  when  I took 
off  my  hat  to  him  he  looked  the  other  way.  Strange,  in  a world  that 
is  bursting  with  sin  and  sorrow,  to  treat  such  a trifle  seriously  as  a 
cheerful  clergyman  whistling  a tune!”  He  pushed  away  his  plate 
as  he  said  the  last  words,  and  went  on  simply  and  earnestly  in  an 
altered  tone.  I have  never  been  able,”  he  said,  to  see  why  we 
should  assert  ourselves  among  other  men  as  belonging  to  a particu^ 


55 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


lar  caste,  and  as  being  forbidden,  in  any  harmless  thing,  to  ^ 
other  people  do.  The  disciples  of  old  set  ns  no  such  example;  they 
were  wiser  and  better  than  we  are.  I venture  to  say  that  one  of  the 
worst  obstacles  in  the  way  of  our  doing  good  among  our  fellow- 
creatures  is  raised  by  the  mere  assumption  of  the  clerical  manner 
and  the  clerical  voice. ' For  my  part,  1 set  up  no  claim  to  be  more 
sacred  and  more  reverend  than  any  other  Christian  man  who  does 
what  good  he  can.”  He  glanced  bright!}^  at  Mere}",  looking  at  hirn 
in  helpless  perplexity.  The  spirit  of  fun  took  possession  of  him 
again.  ” Are  you  a Radical?”  he  asked,  with  a humorous  twinkle 
in  his  large  lustrous  eye.  I am!” 

Mercy  tried  hard  to  understand  him,  and  tried  in  vain.  Could 
this  be  the  preacher  whose  words  had  charmed,  purified,  ennobled 
her?  Was  this  the  man  whose  sermon  had  drawn  tears  from  women 
about  her  whom  she  knew  to  be  shameless  and  hardened  in  crime? 
Yes!  The  eyes  that  now  rested  on  her  humorously  were  the  beau- 
tiful eyes  which  had  once  looked  into  her  soul.  The  voice  that  had 
just  addressed  a jesting  question  to  her  was  the  deep  and  mellow 
voice  which  had  once  thrilled  her  to  the  heart.  In  the  pulpit  he  was 
an  angel  of  mercy;  out  of  the  pulpit  he  was  a boy  let  loose  from 
school. 

” Don’t  let  me  startle  you,”  he  said,  good-naturedly,  noticing  her 
confusion.  ” Public  opinion  has  called  me  by  harder  names  than 
the  name  of  / Radical.’  I have  been  spending  my  time  lately-— as  I 
told  you  just  now — in  an  agricultural  district.  My  business  there 
was  to  perform  the  duty  for  the  rector  of  the  place,  who  wanted  a 
Holiday.  How  do  you  think  the  experiment  ended?  The  Squire  of 
the  parish  calls  me  a Communist;  the  farmers  denounce  me  as  an 
Incendiary;  my  friend  the  rector  has  been  recalled  in  a hurry,  and  I 
have  now  the  honor  of  speaking  to  you  in  the  charactei  of  a banished 
man  who  has  made  a respectable  neighborhood  too  hot  to  hold  him.” 
Willi  that  frank  avowal  he  left  the  luncheon- table,  and  took  a chair 
near  Mercy. 

“ You  will  naturally  be  anxious,”  he  went  on,  to  know  wliat 
my  offense  w^as.  Do  you  understand  Political  Economy  and  the 
Laws  of  Supply  and  Demand?” 

Mercy  owned  that  she  did  not  understand  them. 

“ No  more  do  I — in  a Christian  country,”  he  said.  ” That  'was 
my  offense.  You  shall  hear  my  confession  (just  as  my  aunt  will 
luar  it)  in  two  words.”  He  paused  for  a little  time;  his  variable 
manner  changed  again.  Mercy,  shyly  looking  at  him,  saw  a new 


THE  KEW  MAGHALE^T, 


57 


expression  in  his  eyes — an  expression  which  recalled  her  first  re- 
membrance of  him  as  nothing  had  recalled  it  yet.  “ I had  no  idea/* 
he  resumed,  “ of  what. the  life  of  a farm  laborer  really  was,  in  some 
parts  of  England,  until  I undertook  the  rector’s  duties.  Never  be- 
fore had  I seen  such  dire  wretchedness  as  I saw  in  the  cottages. 
Never-before  had  1 met  with  such  noble  patience  under  suffering  as 
I found  among  the  people.  The  martyrs  of  old  could  endure,  and 
die.  1 asked  myself  if  they  could  endure,  and  Uw,  like  the  martyrs 
1 saw  around  me? — live,  week  after  week,  month  after  month,  year 
after  year,  on  the  brink  of  starvation;  live,  and  see  their  pining  chil- 
dren growing  up  round  them,  to  work  and  want  in  their  turn;  live, 
with  the  poor  man’s  parish-prison  to  look  to  as  the  end,  when  hunger 
and  labor  have  done  their  worst!  Was  God’s  beautiful  earth  made 
to  hold  such  misery  as  this?  I can  hardly  think  of  it,  1 can  hardly 
speak  of  it  even  now,  with  dry  eyes!” 

His  head  sank  on  his  breast.  He  waited — mastering  his  emotion 
before  he  spoke  again.  Now,  at  last,  she  knew  him  once  more. 
Now,  he  was  the  man,  indeed,  whom  she  had  expected  to  see.  Un- 
consciomly  she  sat  listening,  with  her  e3^es  fixed  on  his  face,  with 
her  heart  hanging  on  his  words,  in  the  very  attitude  of  the  by -gone 
day  when  she  had  heard  him  for  the  first  time ! 

” I did  all  I could  to  plead  for  the  helpless  ones,”  he  resumed. 
“ I went  round  among  the  holders  of  the  land  to  say  a word  for 
the  tillers  of  the  land.  ' These  patient  people  don’t  want  much,’  I 
said;  ‘ in  the  name  of  Christ,  give  them  enough  to  live  on!’  Politi 
cal  Economy  shrieked  at  the  horrid  proposal;  the  Laws  of  Supply 
and  Demand  veiled  their  majestic  faces  in  dismay.  Starvation  wages 
were  the  right  wages,  I was  told.  And  why?  Because  the  laborer 
was  obliged  to  accept  them!  1 determined,  so  far  as  one  man  could 
do  it,  that  the  laborer  should  not  be  obliged  to  accept  them.  1 collect- 
ed my  own  resources— I wrote  to  my  friends — and  I removed  some 
of  the  poor  fellows  to  parts  of  England  where  their  work  was  better 
paid.  Such  was  the  conduct  which  made  the  neighborhood  too  hot 
to  hold  me.  So  let  it  be!  I mean  to  go  on.  1 am  known  in  Lon- 
don; I can  raise  subscriptions.  The  vile  Laws  of  Supph  and  De- 
mand shall  find  labor  scarce  in  that  agricultural  district;  and  piti^ 
less  Political  Economy  shall  spend  a few  extra  shillings  on  the  poor 
as  certainly  as  I am  that  Radical,  Communist,  and  Incendiary-^  Julian 
Gray!”  He  rose— making  a little  gesture  of  apology  for  the  warmth 
with  tvhich  he  had  spoken— and  took  a turn  in  the  room.  Fired  by 
Ms  enthusiasm,  Mercy  followed  him.  Her  purse  was  in  her  hand. 
When  he  turned  and  faced  her. 


68 


THE  NEW  HAGDALEK. 


‘‘Pray  let  me  ojffier  my  little  tribute— such  as  it  is!”  she  said, 
tagerly. 

A momentary  flush  spread  over  his  pale  cheeks  as  he  looked  at  the 
beautiful  compassionate  face  pleading  with  him. 

“No!  no!”  he  said,  smiling;  “though  1 am  a parson,  I don’t 
carry  the  begging-box  everywhere.”  Mercy  attempted  to  press  the 
purse  on  him.  The  quaint  humor  began  to  twinkle  again  in  his  eyes 
as  he  abruptly  drew  back  from  it.  “ Don’t  tempt  me!”  he  said. 
“ The  frailest  of  all  human  creatures  is  a clergyman  tempted  by  a 
subseription.  ’ ’ Mercy  persisted  and  conquered ; she  made  him  prove 
the  truth  of  his  own  profound  observation  of  clerical  human  nature 
by  taking  a piece  of  money  from  the  purse.  If  1 must  take  it— I 
lnust!“  he  remarked.  “ Thank  you  for  setting  the  good  example! 
thank  you  for  giving  the  timely  help!  What  name  shall  I put  down 
on  my  list?” 

Mercy’s  eyes  looked  confusedly  away  from  him,  “No  name,” 
she  said,  in  a low  voice.  “ My  subscription  is  anonymous.” 

As  she  replied  the  library  door  opened.  To  her  infinite  relief — to 
Julian’s  secret  disappointment— Lady  Janet  Roy  and  Horace  Holm- 
croft  entered  the  room  together. 

“ Julian!”  exclaimed  Lady  Janet,  holding  up  her  hands  in  aston- 
ishment. 

He  kissed  his  aunt  on  the  cheek.  “ Your  ladyship  is  looking 
charmingly.”  He  gave  his  hand  to  Horace.  Horace  took  it  and 
passed  on  to  Mercy.  They  walked  away  together  slowly  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room.  Julian  seized  on  the  chance  which  left  him 
fr6e  to  speak  privately  to  his  aunt. 

“ 1 came  in  through  the  conservatory,”  he  said.  And  I found 
that  young  lady  in  the  room.  Who  is  she?” 

“ Are  you  very  much  interested  in  her?”  asked  Lady  Janet,  in 
her  gravely  ironical  way.  Julian  answered  in  one  expressive  word. 

‘ Indescribably!”  Lady  Janet  called  to  Mercy  to  join  her. 

“My  dear,”  she  said,  “ let  me  formally  present  my  nephew  to 
you.  Julian,  this  is  Miss  Grace  Roseberry— ” She  suddenly 
checked  herself.  The  instant  she  pronounced  the  name,  Julian 
started  as  if  it  was  a surprise  to  him.  “ What  is  it?”  she  asked, 
sharply. 

“ Nothing,”  he  answered,  bowing  to  Mercy,  with  a marked  ab- 
sence of  his  former  ease  of  manner.  She  returned  the  courtesy  a 
little  restrainedly  on  her  side.  She,  too,  had  seen  him  start  when 
Lady  Janet  mentioned  the  name  by  which  she  was  known.  The 
start  meant  something.  What  could  it  be?  Why  did  he  turn  aside, 


THE  KEW  HAGDALEK. 


59 


wing  to  her,  and  address  himself  to  Horace,  wftli  an  absent 
his  face,  as  if  his  thoughts  were  far  away  from  his  words? 
plete  change  had  come  over  him;  and  it  dated  from  the  mOv 
when  his  aunt  had  pronounced  the  name  that  was  not  Iut 
e— the  name  that  she  had  stolen! 

Janet  claimed  Julian’s  attention,  and  left  Horace  free  to  re 
to  Mercy.  “ Your  room  is  ready  for  you,”  she  said.  ‘'You 
:tay  here,  of  course?”  Julian  accepted  the  invitation — still 
air  of  a man  whose  mind  was  preoccupied.  Instead  of 
ing  at  his  aunt  when  he  made  his  reply,  he  looked  round  at 
with  a troubled  curiosity  in  his  face,  very  strange  to  see. 
Lady  Janet  tapped  him  impatiently  on  the  shoulder.  ” I expect 
people  to  look  at  me  when  people  speak  to  me,”  she  said.  “ What 
are  you  staring  at  my  adopted  daughter  for?” 

” Your  adopted  daughter”  Julian  repeated — looking  at  his  aunt 
this  time,  and  looking  very  earnestly. 

“ Certainly!  As  Colonel  Roseberry’s  daughter,  she  is  connected 
with  me  by  marriage  already.  Did  you  think  I had  picked  up  a 
foundling?” 

Julian’s  face  cleared;  he  looked  relieved.  “I  had  forgotten  the 
Colonel,”  he  answered.  “Of  course  the  young  lady  is  related  to 
us,  as  you  say.  ” 

“ Charmed,  I am  sure,  to  have  satisfied  you  that  Grace  is  not  an 
impostor,”  said  Lady  Janet,  with  satirical  humility.  Bhe  took 
Julian’s  arm,  and  drew  him  out  of  hearing  of  Horace  and  Mercy. 
“ About  that  letter  of  yours!”  she  proceeded.  “ There  is  one  line 
in  it  that  rouses  my  curicsity.  Who  is  the  mysterious  ‘ lady  ’ whom 
you  wish  to  present  to  me?  ’ Julian  started,  and  changed  color. 

“ I can’t  tell  you  now,”  he  said  in  a whisper. 

“ Why  not” 

To  Lady  Janet’s  unutterable  astonishment,  instead  of  replying, 
Julian  looked  round  at  her  adopted  daughter  once  more. 

“ What  has  she  got  to  do  with  it”  asked  the  old  lady,  out  of  all 
^latience  with  him. 

“It  is  imposible  for  me  to  tell  you,”  he  answered,  gravely, 
" while  Miss  Roseberry  is  in  the  room.” 


CHAPTER  IX. 

NEWS  FKOM  MANNHEIM. 

Lady  Janet’s  curiosity  was  by  this  time  thoroughly  aroused. 
Bummoued  to  explain  who  the  nameless  lady  mentioned  in  his  letter 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH, 


\ '■ 

could  possibly  be,  Julian  had  looked  at  her  adopted  dJughteff. 
Asked  next  to  explain  what  her  adopted  daughter  had  got\  to  do 
with  it,  he  Lad  declared  that  he  could  not  answer  while  Miss  Slose 
berry  was  in  the  room.  What  did  he  mean.  Lady  Janet  deterrihiDed 
to  find  out.  \ 

“ I hale  all  mysteries,'’  she  said  to  Julian.  “ And  as  for  secrets,  1 
consider  them  to  be  one  of  the  forms  of  ill-breeding.  People  in  lour 
rank  of  life  ought  to  be  above  whispering  in  corners.  If  you 
have  your  mystery,  1 can  offer  you  a corner  in  the  library.  ®Dme 
with  me."  \ 

Julian  followed  his  aunt  very  reluctantly.  Whatever  the  n^S' 
lery  might  be,  he  was  plainly  embarrassed  by  being  called  upoiT"^^ 
to  reveal  it  at  a moment’s  notice.  Lady  Janet  settled  herself  in  her 
chair,  prepared  to  question  and  cross-question  her  nephew,  when 
an  obstacle  appeared  at  the  other  end  of  the  library,  in  the  shape  of 
a man  servant  with  a message.  One  of  Lady  Janet’s  neighbors 
had  called  by  appointment  to  take  her  to  the  meeting  of  a certain 
committee  which  assembled  that  day.  The  servant  announced  that 
the  neighbor — an  elderly  lady—was  then  waiting  in  her  carriage  at 
the  door. 

Lady  Janet’s  ready  invention  set  the  obstacle  aside  without  a 
moment’s  delay.  She  directed  the  servant  to  show  her  visitor  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  to  say  that  she  was  unexpectedly  engaged, 
but  that  Miss  Roseberry  would  see  the  lady  immediately.  She  then 
turned  to  Julian,  and  said,  with  her  most  satirical  emphasis  of  tone 
and  mannoi%  “ Would  it  he  an  additional  convenience  if  Miss  Rose- 
berry  was  not  only  out  of  the  room  before  you  disclose  your  secret, 
but  out  of  the  house?’’  Julian  gravely  answered,  " It  may  possi- 
bly be  quite  as  well  if  Miss  Roseberry  is  out  of  the  house.’’  Lady 
Janet  led  the  way  back  to  the  dining-room. 

“ My  dear  Grace,’’ she  said,  '‘you  looked  flushed  and  feverish 
when  I saw  you  asleep  on  the  sofa  a little  while  since.  It  will  do 
you  no  harm  to  have  a drive  in  the  fresh  air.  Our  friend  has  called 
to  take  me  to  the  committee  meeting.  1 have  sent  to  tell  her  that  I 
am  engaged — and  1 shall  be  much  obliged  if  you  will  go  in  my 
place.’’ 

Mercy  looked  a little  alarmed.  " Does  your  ladyship  mean  the 
committee  meeting  of  the  Samaritan  Obnvalescent  Home?  The 
members,  as  I understand  it,  are  to  decide  to-day  which  of  the 
plans  for  the  new  building  they  are  to  adopt.  I cannot  surely 
presume  to  vote  in  your  place?"  ^ 

“ You  can  vote,  my  dear  child,  just  as  well  as  I can,’’  replied  the 


THE  HEW  MAGDA  LEH. 


61 


\ 

oltl  lady,  ‘‘  Architecture  is  one  of  the  lost  arts.  You  know  nothing 
aboit  it;  1 know  nothing  about  it;  the  architects  themselves  know 
nothing  about  it.  One  plan  is  no  doubt  just  as  bad  as  the  other. 
Vote]  as  I should  vote,  with  the  majority.  Or  as  poor  dear  Dr. 
Johnson  said,  ‘ Shout  with  the  loudest  mob.’  Away  with  you — and 
don’t  keep  the  committee  waiting.”  Horace  hastened  to  open  the 
door  for  Mercy. 

‘‘  How  long  shall  you  be  away?”  he  whispered,  confidentially. 

” I had  a thousand  things  to  say  to  you,  but  they  have  interrupted 
us.” 

“ I shall  be  back  in  an  hour.” 

We  shall  have  the  room  to  ourselves  by  that  time.  Come  here  ' 
when  you  return.  You  will  find  me  waiting  for  you.” 

Mercy  pressed  his  hand  significantly  and  went  out.  Lady  Janet 
turned  to  Julian,  who  had  thus  far  remained  in  the  background, 
still,  to  all  appearance,  as  unwilling  as  ever  to  enlighten  his  aunt. 

Well?”  she  said.  “ What  is  tying  your  tongue  now?  Grace  is 
out  of  the  room;  why  don’t  you  begin?  Is  Horace  in  the  way?” 

“ Hot  in  the  least.  I am  only  a little  uneasy — ” 

‘‘  Uneasy  about  what?” 

‘‘  I am  afraid  you  have  put  that  charming  creature  to  some  In- 
convenience in  sending  her  av»ray  just  at  this  time.”  Horace  looked  .. 
up  suddenly,  with  a flush  on  his  face. 

“ When  you  say  ‘ that  charming  creature,’  ” he  asked  sharply, 

” I suppose  you  mean  Miss  Roseberry?” 

Certainly,”  answered  Julian.  “Why  not?” 

Lady  Janet  interposed.  “Gently,  Julian,”  she  said.  “Grace 
has  only  been  introduced  to  you  hitherto  in  the  character  of  my 
adopted  daughter — ” 

“ And  it  seems  to  be  high  time,”  Horace  added,  haughtily,  “ that 
I should  present  her  next  in  the  character  of  my  engaged  wife.” 

Julian  looked  at  Horace  as  if  he  could  hardly  credit  the  evidence 
of  his  own  ears.  “ Your  wife!”  he  exclaimed,  with  an  inexpressi- 
ble outburst  of  disappointment  and  surprise. 

“Yes,  my  wife,”  returned  Horace.  “ V\^e  are  to  be  married  in 
a fortnight.  May  1 ask,”  he  added,  with  angry  humility,  “ if  you 
disapprove  of  the  marriage?”  Lady  Janet  interposed  once  more. 

“ Honsense,  Horace,”  she  said,  “ Julian  congratulates  you,  of 
course.  ” 

Julian  coldly  and  absently  echoed  the  words,  “ Oh,  yes,  I con* 
gratulate  you,  of  course.” 


62 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


Lady  Janet  returned  to  the  main  object  of  the  interview. 

“ Kow  we  thoroughly  understand  one  another/’  she  said,  “ le% 
ns  speak  of  a lady  who  has  dropped  out  of  the  conversation  for  the 
last  minute  or  two.  I mean,  Julian,  the  mysterious  lady  of  your 
letter.  We  are  alone,  as  you  desired.  Lift  the  veil,  my  reverend 
nephew,  which  hides  her  from  mortal  eyes!  Blush,  if  you  like — 
and  can.  Is  she  the  future  Mrs.  Julian  Gray/’ 

“ She  is  a perfect  stranger  to  me,”  Julian  answered,  quietly. 

“ A perfect  stranger!  You  wrote  me  word  you  were  interested 
in  her.” 

**  I am  interested  in  her.  And,  what  is  more,  you  are  interested 
in  her  too.” 

Lady  Janet’s  fingers  drummed  impatiently  on  the  table.  ‘‘  Have  I 
not  warned  you,  Julian,  that  I hate  mysteries?  Will  you,  or  will 
you  not,  explain  yourself?” 

Before  it  was  possible  to  answer,  Horace  rose  from  his  chair. 

Perhaps  I am  in  the  way,”  he  said.  Julian  signed  to  him  to  sit 
down  again. 

I have  already  told  Lady.  Janet  that  you  are  not  in  the  way,”  he 
answered.  ” I now  tell  you — as  Miss  Koseberry’s  future  husband 
— that  you  too  have  an  interest  in  hearing  what  I have  to  say.” 

Horace  resumed  his  seat  with  an  air  of  suspicions  surprise.  Julian 
addressed  himself  to  Lady  Janet. 

“You  have  often  heard  me  speak,”  he  began,  “ of  my  old  friend 
and  school-fellow,  John  Cressingham?” 

“ Yes.  The  English  consul  at  Mannheim?” 

“ The  same.  When  I returned  from  the  country  I found  amonj^ 
my  other  letters  a long  letfcr  from  the  consul.  I have  brought  it 
with  me,  and  I propose  to  read  certain  passages  from  it,  which  tell 
a very  strange  story  more  plainly  and  more  credibly  than  1 can  tell 
it  in  my  own  words.” 

“ Will  it  be  very  long?”  inquired  Lady  Janet,  looking  with  some 
alarm  at  the  closely  written  sheets  of  paper  which  her  nephew  spread 
open  before  him. 

Horace  followed  with  a question  on  his  side. 

“ You  are  sure  I am  interested  in  it?”  he  asked.  “ The  consul  at 
Mannheim  is  a total  stranger  to  me.” 

“ 1*11  answer  for  it,”  replied  Julian,  gravely,  “ neither  my  auii.;’s 
patience  nor  yours,  Horace,  will  be  thrown  away  if  you  will  favor 
me  by  listening  attentively  to  what  1 aha  about  to  read.” 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


63 


With  those  words  he  began  his  first  extract  from  the  consul’s  let- 
ter: 

. “ ‘ My  memory  is  a bad  one  for  dates.  But  full  three 

months  must  have  passed  since  information  was  sent  to  me  of  an 
English  patient,  received  at  the  hospital  here,  whose  case  I,  as  En- 
glish consul,  might  feel  an  interest  in  investigating. 

“ ‘ I went  the  same  day  to  the  hospital,  and  was  taken  to  the  bed- 
side. 

* The  patient  was  a woman— young,  and  (when  in  health),  I 
should  think,  very  pretty.  When  I first  saw  her  she  looked,  to  my 
uninstructed  eye,  like  a dead  woman.  1 noticed  that  her  head  had 
a bandage  over  it,  and  I asked  what  was  the  nature  of  the  injury 
that  she  had  received.  The  answer  informed  me  that  the  poor  creat- 
ure had  been  present,  nobody  knew  why  or  wherefore,  at  a skirmisb 
or  night  attack  between  the  Germans  and  the  French,  and  that  the 
injury  to  her  head  had  been  inflicted  by  a fragment  of  a German 
shell.’” 

Horace — thus  far  leaning  back  carelessly  in  his  chair— suddenly 
raised  himself  and  exclaimed,  “ Good  heavens!  can  this  be  the 
woman  I saw  laid  out  for  dead  in  the  French  cottage?” 

” It  is  impossible  for  me  to  say,”  replied  Julian.  “ Listen  to  the 
rest  of  it.  The  consul’s  letter  may  answer  your  question.”  He 
went  on  with  his  reading: 

“ ‘ The  wounded  woman  had  been  reported  dead,  and  had  been 
left  by  the  French  in  their  retreat,  at  the  time  when  the  German 
forces  took  possession  of  the  enemy’s  posilian.  She  was  found  on 
a bed  in  a cottage  by  the  director  of  the  German  ambulance — ’ ” 

‘‘Ignatius  Wetzel?”  cried  Horace. 

“ Ignatius  Wetzel,”  repeated  Julian,. looking  at  the  letter. 

” It  the  same!”  said  Horace.  ” Lady  Janet,  we  are  really  in- 
terested in  this.  You  remember  my  telling  you  how  I first  met  with 
Grace?  And  you  have  heard  more  about  it  since,  no  doubt,  from 
Grace  herself?” 

” She  has  a horror  of  referring  to  that  part  of  her  journey  home,” 
replied  Lady  Janet.  “ She  mentioned  her  having  been  stopped  on 
the  frontier,  and  her  finding  herself  accidentally  in  the  company  of 
another  Englishwoman,  a perfect  stranger  to  her.  I naturally  asked 
questions  on  my  side,  and  was  shocked  to  hear  that  she  had  seen 
the  woman  killed  by  a German  shell  almost  close  at  her  side. 
Neither  she  nor  I have  had  any  relish  for  returning  to  the  subject 
since.  You  were  quite  right,  Julian,  to  avoid  speaking  of  it  vyhile 
sbe  was  in  the  room.  I understand  it  all  now.  Grace,  I suppose, 
mentioned  my  name  to  her  fellow -traveler.  The  woman  is,  no 
doubt,  in  want  of  assistance,  and  she  applies  to  me  through  you* 


64 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


1 will  help  her;  but  she  must  uot  come  here  until  1 have  prepared 
Grace  for  seeing  her  again,  a living  woman.  For  the  present  there 
is  no  reason  why  they  should  meet.” 

I am  not  sure  about  that,”  said  Julian,  in  low  tones,  without 
looking  up  at  his  aunt. 

“ What  do  you  mean?  Is  the  mystery  not  at  an  end  yet?” 

“ The  mystery  has  not  even  begun  yet.  Let  my  friend  the  consul 
proceed.”  Julian  returned  for  the  second  time  to  his  extract  from 
the  letter: 

“ ' After  a careful  examination  of  the  supposed  corpse,  the  Ger- 
man surgeon  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  a case  of  suspended 
animation  had  (in  the  hurry  of  the  French  retreat)  been  mistaken  for 
a case  of  death.  Feeling  a professional  interest  in  the  subject,  he 
decided  on  putting  his  opinion  to  the  lest.  He  operated  on  the 
patient  with  complete  success.  After  performing  the  operation  he 
kept  her  for  some  days  under  his  own  care,  and  then  transferred 
her  to  the  nearest  hospital— the  hospital  of  Mannheim.  He  was 
obliged  to  return  to  his  duties  as  army  surgeon,  and  he  left  his 
patient  in  the  condition  in  which  I saw  her,  insensible  on  the  bed. 
Neither  he  nor  the  hospital  authorities  knew  anything  whatever 
about  the  woman.  No  papers  were  found  on  her.  All  the  doctors 
could  do,  when  I asked  them  for  information  with  a view  to  com- 
municating with  her  friends,  was  to  show  me  her  linen  marked  with 
her  name.  I left  the  hospital  after  taking  down  the  name  in  my 
pocket  book.  It  was  “ Mercy  Merrick.”  ’ ” 

Lady  Janet  produced  lier  pocket  book.  ” Let  me  take  the  name 
down  too,”  she  said,  I never  heard  it  before,  and  I might  other- 
wise forget  it.  Go  on,  Julian.”  Julian  advanced  to  his  second  ex- 
tract from  the  consul’s  letter: 

” ‘ Under  these  circumstances,  I could  only  wait  to  hear  from  the 
hospital  when  the  patient  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  be  able  to 
speak  to  me.  Some  weeks  passed  without  my  receiving  any  com- 
munication from  tlie  doctors.  On  calling  to  make  inquiries  I was 
informed  that  fever  had  set  in,  and  that  the  poor  creature’s  condiliou 
now  alternated  between  exhaustion  and  delirium.  In  her  delirious 
moments  the  name  of  your  aunt,  Lady  Janet  Roy,  frequently  es- 
caped her.  Otherwise  her  wanderings  were  for  the  most  part  quite 
unintelligible  to  the  people  at  her  bedside.  I thought  once  or  twice 
of  writing  to  you,  and  of  begging  you  to  speak  to  Lady  Janet.  But 
as  the  doctors  informed  me  that  the  chances  of  life  or  death  were 
at  this  time  almost  equally  balanced,  I decided  to  wait  until  time 
should  determine  whether  it  was  necessary  to  trouble  you  or  not.’  ” 

**  You  know  best,  Julian,”  said  Lady  Janet.  ‘‘  But  I own  1 don’t 
quite  see  in  what  way  1 am  interested  in  this  part  of  the  story.” 

“ Just  what  1 was  going  to  say,”  added  Horace.  **  It  is  very  sad 
no  doubt.  But  what  have  ^oe  to  do  with  it?” 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEK.  65 

‘^Let  me  read  my  third  extract,”  Julian  answered,  “and  you 
will  see.”  He  turned  to  the  third  extract,  and  read  as  follows: 

“ ‘ At  last  I received  a message  from  the  hospital,  informing  me 
that  Mercy  Merrick  was  out  of  danger,  and  that  she  was  capable 
(though  still  very  weak)  of  answering  any  questions  which  1 might 
think  it  desirable  to  put  to  her.  On  reaching  the  hospital  I was 
requested,  rather  to  my  surprise,  to  pay  my  first  visit  to  the  head 
physicia)!  in  his  private  room.  “ 1 think  it  right,”  said  this  gentle- 
man, “ to  warn  you,  before  you  see  the  patient,  to  be  very  careful 
how  you  speak  to  her,  and  not  to  irritate  her  by  showing  any  sur- 
prise or  expressing  any  doubts  if  she  talks  to  you  in  an  extravagant 
manner.  We  differ  in  opinion  about  her  here.  Some  of  us  (myself 
among  the  number)  doubt  whether  the  recover}^  of  her  mind  has  ac- 
companied the  recovery  of  her  bodily  powers.  Without  pronounc- 
ing her  to  be  mad — she  is  perfectly  gentle  and  harmless — we  are 
nevertheless  of  opinion  that  she  is  suffering  under  a species  of  in- 
sane delusion.  Bear  in  mind  the  caution  which  I have  given  you — 
and  now  go  and  judge  for  yourself.”  1 obeyed,  in  some  little  per- 
plexity and  surprise.  The  sufferer,  when  I approached  her  bed, 
looked  sadly  weak  and  worn;  but,  so  far  as  1 could  judge,  seemed 
to  be  in  full  possession  of  herself.  Her  tone  *aud  manner  were  un- 
questionably the  tone  and  manner  of  a lady.  After  briefly  introduc- 
ing myself,  1 assured  her  that  1 should  be  glad,  both  officially  and 
personally,  if  I could  be  of  any  assistance  to  her.  In  saying  these 
trifling  words  I happened  to  address  her  by  the  name  I had  seen 
marked  on  her  clothes.  The  instant  the  words  ” Miss  Merrick” 

Eassed  my  lips  a wild,  vindictive  expression  appeared  in  her  eyes. 

he  exclaimed,  angrily,  ” Don’t, call  me  by  that  hateful  name!  It’s 
not  my  name.  All  the  people  here  persecute  me  by  calling  me  Mercy 
Merrick.  xAnd  when  I am  angry  with  them  they  show  me  the 
clothes.  Say  what  I may,  they  persist  in  believing  they  are  my 
clothes.  Don’t  you  do  the  same,  if  you  want  to  be  friends  with  me.” 
Kemembering  what  the  physician  had  said  to  me,  I made  the  neces- 
sary excuses,  and  succeeded  in  soothing  her.  Without  reverting  to 
the  irritating  topic  of  the  name,  I merely  inquired  wliat  her  plans 
were,  and  assured  her  that  she  might  command  my  services  if  she 
required  them.  ” Why  do  you  want  to  know  what  my  plans  are?” 
she  asked,  suspiciously.  I reminded  her  in  reply  that  I held  the 
position  of  English  consul,  and  that  my  object  was,  if  possible,  to 
be  of  some  assistance  to  her.  “You  can  be  of  the  greatest  assistance 
to  me,”  she  said,  eagerly.  “Find  Mercy  Merrick!”  I saw  the 
vindictive  look  come  back  into  her  eyes,  and  an  angry  flush  rising 
on  her  white  cheeks.  Abstaining  from  showing  any  surprise,  1 asked 
her  who  Mercy  Merrick  was.  “ A vile  woman,  by  her  own  con 
fession,”  was  the  quick  reply.  “ How  am  I to  find  her?”  I inquired 
next.  “ Look  for  a woman  in  a black  dress,  with  the  Red  Geneva 
Cross  on  her  shoulder;  she  is  a nurse  in  tlie  French  ambulance.” 
“ What  has  she  done?”  “ I have  lost  my  papers;  I have  lost  my 
^^wn  clothes;  Mercy  Merrick  has  taken  them.”  “ How  do  you  know 
that  Mercy  Merrick  has  taken  them?’'  “ Nobody  else  could  have 
taken  them—tbat’s  how  I know  it.  Do  you  believe  me  or  not?” 
She  was  beginning  to  excite  herself  again;  I assured  her  that  I would 
8 


66 


THE  ]?rEW  MAGDALEH. 


at  once  send  to  make  inquiries  after  Mercy  Merrick.  She  turned 
round  contented  on  the  pillow.  “ There's  a good  man!”  she  said. 
‘‘  Come  hack  and  tell  me  when  you  have  caught  her.”  Such  was 
my  first  interview  with  the  English  patient  at  the  hospital  at  Mann^ 
heim.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  I doubted  the  existence  of  the  absent 
person  described  as  a nurse.  However,  it  was  possible  to  make  in- 
quiries by  applying  to  the  surgeon,  Ignatius  Wetzel,  whose  where- 
abouts was  known  to  his  friends  in  Mannheim.  I wrote  to  him, 
and  received  his  answer  in  due  time.  After  the  night  attack  of  the 
Germans  had  made  them  masters  of  the  French  position,  he  had 
entered  the  cottage  occupied  by  the  French  ambulance.  He  had 
found  the  wounded  Frenchmen  left  behind,  but  had  seen  no  such 
person  in  attendance  on  them  as  the  nurse  in  the  black  dress  with  the 
red  cross  on  her  shoulder.  The  only  living  woman  in  the  place  was 
a young  English  lady,  in  a gray  traveling  cloak,  who  had  been 
stopped  on  the  frontier,  and  who  was  forwarded  on  her  way  home 
by  the  war  correspondent  of  an  English  journal.'  ” 

“ That  was  Grace,”  said  Lady  Janet.  ‘‘  And  I was  the  war  cor- 
respondent,” added  Horace. 

” A few  words  more,”  said  Julian,  ‘‘and  you -will  understand 
my  object  in  claiming  your  attention.”  He  returned  to  the  letter 
for  the  last  time,  and  concluded  his  extracts  from  it  as  follows; 

“ ‘ Instead  of  attending  at  the  hospital  myself,  I communicated 
by  letter  the  failure  of  my  attempt  to  discover  the  missing  nurse. 
For  some  little  time  afterward  I heard  no  more  of  the  sick  woman 
whom  I shall  still  call  Mercy  Merrick.  It  was  only  yesterday  that 
I received  another  summons  to  visit  the  patient.  She  had  by  this 
time  sufficiently  recovered  to  claim  her  discharge,  and  she  had  an- 
nounced her  intention  of  returning  forthwith  to  England.  The 
head  physician,  feeling  a sense  of  responsibility,  had  sent  for  me. 
It  was  impossible  to  detain  her  on  the  ground  that  she  was  not  fit  to 
be  trusted  by  herself  at  large,  in  consequence  of-  the  difference  of 
opinion  among  the  doctors  on  the  case.  All  that  could  be  done  was 
to  give  me  due  notice,  and  to  leave  the  matter  in  my  hands.  On 
seeing  her  for  the  second  time,  I found  her  sullen  and  reserved.  She 
openly  attributed  my  inability  to  find  the  nurse  to  want  of  zeal  for 
her  interests  on  my  part.  I had,  on  my  side,  no  authority  whatever 
to  detain  her.  I could  only  inquire  whether  she  had  money  enough 
to  pay  her  traveling  expenses.  Her  reply  informed  me  that  the 
chaplain  of  the  hospital  had  mentioned  her  forlorn  situation  in  the 
town,  and  that  the  English  residents  had  subscribed  a small  sum 
of  money  to  enable  her  to  return  to  her  own  country.  Satisfied  on 
this  head,  I asked  next  if  she  had  friends  to  go  to  in  England.  ” I 
have  one  friend,”  she  answered,  “who  is  a host  in  herself — Lady 
Janet  Roy.”  You  may  imagine  my  surprise  when  I heard  this.  [ 
found  it  quite  useless  to  make  any  further  inquiries  as  to  how  she 
came  to  know  your  aunt,  whether  your  aunt  expected  her,  and  so 
on.  My  questions  evidently  offended  her;  they  were  received  in 
sulky  silence.  Under  these  circumstances,  well  knowing  that  I can 
^rust  implicitly  to  your  humane  sympathy  for  misfortune,  I have 


THE  KAGDALEljr. 


67 


decided  (after  careful  reflection)  to  insure  the  poor  creature’s  safety 
when  she  arrives  iii  London  by  giving  her  a letter  to  you.  You  will 
bear  what  she  says,  and  you  will  be  better  able  to  discover  than  I am 
whether  she  really  has  any  claim  on  Lady  Janet  Roy.  One  last  word 
of  information,  which  it  may  be  necessary  to  add,  and  I shall  close 
this  inordinately  long  letter.  At  my  first  interview  with  her,  I ab- 
stained, as  I have  already  told  you,  from  irritating  her  by  any  in- 
quiries on  the  subject  of  her  name.  On  this  second  occasion,  how- 
ever, 1 decided  on  putting  the  question.’  ” 

As  he  read  those  last  words,  Julian  became  aware  of  a sudden 
movement  on  the  part  of  his  aunt.  Lady  Janet  had  risen  softly 
from  her  chair  and  had  passed  behind  him,  with  the  purpose  of 
reading  the  consul’s  letter  for  herself  over  her  nephew’s  shoulder. 
Julian  detected  the  action  just  in  time  to  frustrate  Lady  Janet’s 
intention  by  placing  his  hand  over  the  last  two  lines  of  the  letter. 

‘‘  What  do  you  do  that  for?”  inquired  his  aunt,  sharply. 

” You  are  welcome,  Lady  Janet,  to  read  the  close  of  the  letter  for 
yourself,”  Julian  replied.  “ But  before  you  do  so,  I am  anxious  to 
prepare  you  for  a very  great  surprise.  Compose  yourself,  and  let 
me  read  on  slowly,  with  your  eye  on  me,  until  I unco\er  the  last 
two  words  which  close  my  friend’s  letter.” 

He  read  the  end  of  the  letter,  as  he  had  proposed,  in  these  terms: 

‘I  looked  the  woman  straight  in  the  face,  and  I said  to  her, 
“ You  have  denied  that  the  name  marked  on  the  clothes  which  you 
wore  when  you  came  here  was  your  name.  If  you  are  not  Mercy 
Merrick,  who  are  you?”  She  answered,  instantly,  ‘‘My  name 
is — ” ' ” 

Julian  removed  his  hand  from  the  page.  Lady  Janet  looked  at 
the  next  two  words,  and  started  back  with  a loud  cry  of  astonish- 
ment, which  brought  Horace  instantly  to  his  feet.  “ Tell  me,  one 
of  you  I”  he  cried.  “ What  name  did  she  give?” 

Julian  told  him:  “ Gbace  Rosebekry.” 


CHAPTER  X. 

A COUNCIL  OP  THREE. 

For  a moment  Horace  stood  thunderstruck,  looking  in  blank  aah 
tonishment  at  Lady  Janet.  His  first  words,  as  soon  as  he  had  re- 
covered himself,  were  addressed  to  Julian. 

” Is  this  a joke?”  he  asked,  sternly.  “ If  it  is,  I for  one  don’t  see 
the  humor  of  it.” 

Julian  pointed  to  the  closely -writ ten  pages  of  the  consul’s  letter. 
“A  man  writes. in  earnest,”  he  said,  “when  he  writes  at  such 


68 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


leogth  as  this.  The  woman  seriously  gave  the  name  of  Grace  Rose- 
berry,  and  when  she  left  Mannheim  she  traveled  to  England  for  the 
express  purpose  of  presenting  herself  to  Lady  Janet  Roy.”  He 
turned  to  his  aunt.  “ You  saw  me  start,”  he  went  on,  ‘‘  when  you 
first  mentioned  Miss  Roseberry’s  name  in  my  hearing.  Now  you 
know  why.”  He  addressed  himself  once  more  to  Horace.  “You 
heard  me  say  that  you,  as  Miss  Roseberry’s  future  husband,  had  an 
interest  in  being  present  at  my  interview  with  Lady  Janet.  Now 
you  know  why.” 

“ The  woman  is  plainly  mad,”  said  Lady  Janet.  “ But  it  is  cer- 
tainly a startling  form  of  madness  w^hen  one  first  hears  of  it.  Of 
course  we  must  keep  the  matter,  for  the  present  at  least,  a secret 
from  Grace.” 

“ There  can  be  no  doubt,”  Horace  agreed,  “ that  Grace  must  be 
kept  in  the  dark,  in  her  present  state  of  health.  The  servants  had 
better  be  warned  beforehand,  in  case  of  this  adventuress  or  mad- 
woman, whichever  she  may  be,  attempting  to  make  her  way  into  the 
house.” 

“ It  shall  be  done  immediately,”  said  Lady  Janet.  “ What  sur- 
prises me,  Julian  (ring  the  bell,  if  you  please),  is,  that  you  should 
describe  yourself  in  your  letter  as  feeling  an  interest  in  this  i^erson.  ” 

Julian  answered — without  ringing  the  bell. 

“lam  more  interested  than  ever,”  he  said,  “now  I find  that 
Miss  Roseberry  herself  is  your  guest  at  Mablethorpe  House.” 

“ You  were  always  perverse,  Julian,  as  a child,  in  3mur  likings 
and  dislikings,”  Lady  Janet  rejoined.  “ Why  don’t  you  ring  the 
bell?” 

“ For  one  good  reason,  my  dear  aunt.  I don’t  wish  to  hear  you 
tell  your  servants  to  close  the  door  on  this  friendless  creature.” 

Lady  Janet  cast  a look  at  her  nephew  which  plainly  expressed 
that  she  thought  he  had  taken  a liberty  with  her. 

“ You  don’t  expect  me  to  see  the  woman?”  she  asked,  in  a tone 
of  cold  surprise. 

“ I hope  you  will  not  refuse  to  see  her,”  Julian  answered, 
quietly.  “ I was  out  when  she  called.  I must  hear  what  she  has  to 
say~and  1 should  infinitely  prefer  hearing  it  in  your  presence. 
vV^hen  I got  your  reply  to  my  letter,  permitting  me  to  present  her 
to  you,  I wrote  to  her  immediately,  appointing  a meeting  here.  ” 

Lady  Janet  lifted  her  bright  black  eyes  in  mute  expostulation  to 
the  carved  Cupids  and  wreaths  on  the  dining  room  ceiling. 

“ When  am  I to  have  the  honor  of  the  lady’s  visit?”  she  inquired, 
with  ironical  resignation. 


69 


THE  KEW  HACnALEH. 

**  To  day/*  answered  her  nephew,  with  impenetrable  patience. 

“ At  what  hour?’* 

Julian  composedly  consulted  his  watch.  “ She  is  ten  minutes  after 
her  time,”  he  said,  and  put  his  watch  back  iu  his  pocket  again.  At 
the  same  moment  the  servant  appeared,  and  advanced  to  Julian, 
carrying  a visiting-card  on  his  little  silver  tray.  “ A lady  to  see 
you,  sir.”  Julian  took  the  card,  and,  bowing,  handed  it  to  his 
aunt.  Here  she  is,”  he  said,  just  as  quietly  as  ever. 

Lady  Janet  looked  at  the  card,  and  tossed  it  indignantly  back  to 
her  nephew,  “Miss  Itoseberry!”  she  exclaimed.  “ Printed— ac- 
tually printed  on  her  card!  Julian,  even  my  patience  has  its  limits. 
I refuse  to  see  her!” 

The  servant  was  still  waiting — not  like  a human  being  who  took 
an  interest  in  the  proceedings,  but,  as  became  a perfectly  bred  foot- 
man, like  an  article  of  fjirniture  artfully  constructed  to  come  and 
go  at  the  word  of  command  Julian  gave  the  word  of  command, 
addressing  the  admirably  constructed  automaton  by  the  name  of 
“James.” 

“ Where  is  the  lady  now?”  he  asked. 

“ In  the  breakfast- room,  sir.” 

“ Leave  her  there,  if  you  please,  and  wait  outside  within  hearing 
of  the  bell.” 

The  legs  of  the  furniture-footman  acted,  and  took  him  noiselessly 
out  of  the  room.  Julian  turned  to  his  aunt. 

“Forgive  me,”  he  said,  “for  venturing  to  give  the  man  his 
orders  in  your  presence.  I am  very  anxious  that  you  should  not 
decide  hastily.  Surely  we  ought  to  hear  what  this  lady  has  to  say?” 

Horace  dissented  widely  from  his  friend’s  opinion.  “ It’s  an  in- 
sult to  Grace,”  he  broke  out,  warmly,  “to  hear  what  she  has  to 
say?” 

Lady  Janet  nodded  her  head  in  high  approval.  “ I think  so  too,” 
saM  her  ladyship,  crossing^  her  handsome  old  hands  resolutely  on 
her  lap.  Julian  applied  himself  to  answering  Horace  first. 

“ Pardon  me,”  he  said.  “ I have  no  intention  of  presuming  to 
reflect  on  Miss  Roseberry,  or  of  bringing  her  into  the  matter  at  all. 
The  consul’s  letter.”  he  went  on,  speaking  to  his  aunt,  “ mentions, 
if  you  remember,  that  the  medical  authorities  of  Mannheim  were 
divided  in  opinion  on  their  patient’s  case.  Some  of  them — the  phy- 
aician-in-chief  being  among  the  number — believe  that  the  recovery 
of  her  mind  has  not  accompanied  the  recovery  of  her  body.” 

“ In  other  words,”  Lady  Janet  remarked,  “a  madwoman  is  ia 
my  house,  and  1 am  expected  to  receive  her!” 


5^0 


THte  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


“Don’t  let  us  exaggerate,”  said  Julian,  gently.  “It  can  serve 
no  good  interest,  in  this  serious  matter,  to  exaggerate  any  thing. 
The  consul  assures  us,  on  the  authority  of  the  doctor,  that  she  is 
perfectly  gentle  and  harmless.  If  she  is  really  the  victim  of  a men^ 
tal  delusion,  the  poor  creature  is  surely  an  object  of  compassion, 
and  she  ought  to  be  placed  under  proper  care.  Ask  your  own  kind 
heart,  my  dear  aunt,  if  it  would  not  be  downright  cruelty  to  tura 
this  forlorn  woman  adrift  in  the  world  without  making  some  in- 
qury  first.”  _ 

Lady  Janet’s  inbred  sense  of  justice  ’admitted — not  overwillingly 
—the  reasonableness  as  well  as  the  humanity  of  the  view  expressed 
in  those  words.  “There  is  some  truth  in  that,  Julian,”  she  said, 
shifting  her  position  uneasily  in  her  chair,  and  looking  at  Horace. 
“ Don’t  you  ihink^so  too?”  she  added. 

“ I can’t  say  I do,”  answered  Horace,  in  the  positive  tone  of  a 
man  whose  obstinacy  is  proof  against  every  form  of  appeal  that  can 
be  addressed  to  him. 

The  patience  of  Julian  was  firm  enough  to  be  a match  for  the  ob- 
stinacy of  Horace.  “At  any  rate,”  he  resumed,  with  undimin- 
ished good  temper,  “we  are  all  three  equally  interested  in  setting 
this  matter  at  rest.  I put  it  to  you.  Lady  Janet,  if  we  are  not  favored, 
at  this  lucky  moment,  with  the  very  opportunity  that  we  want? 
Miss  Roseberry  is  not  only  out  of  the  room,  but  out  of  the  house. 
If  we  let  this  chance  slip,  who  can  say  what  awkward  accident  may 
not  happen  in  the  course  of  the  next  few  days.” 

“ Let  the  woman  come  in,”  cried  Lady  Janet,  deciding  headlong, 
with  her  customary  inpatience  of  all  delay.  “ At  once,  Julian,  be- 
fore Grace  can  come  back.  Will  you  ring  the  bell  this  time?”  1 

This  time  Julian  rang  it.  “ May  I give  the  man  his  orders?”  he 
respectfully  inquired  of  his  aunt. 

“ Give  him  anything  you  like,  and  have  done  with  it!”  retorted 
the  irritable  old  lady,  getting  briskly  on  her  feet,  and  taking  a turn 
in  the  room  to  compose  herself.  The  servant  withdrew,  with  orders 
to  show  the  visitor  in. 

Horace  crossed  the  room  at  the  same  time — apparently  with  the 
intention  of  leaving  it  by  the  door  at  the  opposite  end. 

“You  are  not  going  away?”  exclaimed  Lady  Janet. 

“ I see  no  use  in  my  remaining  here,”  replied  Horace,  not  very 
graciously. 

“In  that  case,”  retorted  Lady  Janet,  “remain  here  because,  1 
wish  it.” 

“ Certainly— if  you  wish  it.  Only  remember,”  he  added,  more 


THE  OTW  MAGDALEH.  71 

obstinately  than  ever,  “ that  I differ  entirely  from  Julian's  view. 
In  my  opinion  the  woman  has  no  claim  on  us." 

A passing  movement  of  irrilation  escaped  Julian  for  the  first  time. 
“ Don’t  he  hard,  Horace,"  he  said,  sharply.  “ All  ’women  have  a 
claim  on  us."  They  had  unconsciously  gathered  together,  in  the 
heat  of  the  little  debate,  turning  their  backs  on  the  library  door. 
At  the  last  words  of  the  reproof  administered  by  Julian  to  Horace, 
their  attention  was  recalled  to  the  passing  events  by  the  slight  noise 
produced  by  the  opening  and  closing  of  the  door.  With  one  accord 
the  three  turned  and  looked  in  the  direction  from  which  the  sounds 
had  come. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  DEAD  ALIVE. 

Just  inside  the  door  there  appeared  the  figure  of  a small  woman 
dressed  in  plain  and  poor  black  garments.  She  silently  lifted  her 
black  net  veil,  and  disclosed  a dull,  pale,  w^orn.  weary  face.  The 
forehead  was  low  and  broad;  the  eyes  were  unusually  far  apart;  the 
lower  features  were  remarkably  small  and  delicate.  In  health  (as 
the  consul  at  Mannheim  had  remarked)  this  wmrnan  must  have  pos- 
sessed, if  not  absolute  beauty,  at  least  rare  atttractions  peculiarly  her 
own.  As  it  was  now,  suffering— sullen,  silent,  self-contained  suffer- 
ing-had marred  its  beauty.  Attention  and  even  curiosity  it  might 
still  rouse.  Admiration  or  interest  it  could  excite  no  longer.  The 
small,  thin,  black  figure  stood  immovably  inside  the  door.  The 
dull,  worn,  white  face  looked  silently  at  the  three  persons  in  the 
room. 

The  three  persons  in  the  room,  on  their  side,  stood  for  a moment 
without  moving,  and  looked  silently  at  the  stranger  on  the  threshold. 
There  was  something  either  in  the  woman  herself,  or  in  the  sudden 
and  stealthy  manner  of  her  appearance  in  the  room,  which  froze,  as 
if  with  the  touch  of  an  invisible  cold  hand,  the  sympathies  of  all 
three.  Accustomed  to  the  world,  habitually  at  their  ease  in.  every 
social  emergency,  they  were  now  silenced  for  the  first  time  in  their 
lives  by  the  first  serious  sense  of  embarrassment  which  they  had  felt 
since  they  were  children  in  the  presence  of  a stranger. 

Had  the  appearance  of  the  true  Grace  Roseberry  aroused  in  their 
minds  a suspicion  of  the  woman  who  had  stolen  her  name  and  taken 
her  place  in  the  house? 

Not  so  much  as  the  shadow  of  a suspicion  of  Mercy  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  strange  sense  of  uneasiness  v/hich  had  now  deprived 


n 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH, 


them  alike  of  their  habitual  courtesy  and  their  habitual  presence  ol 
mind.  It  was  as  practically  impossible  for  any  one  of  the  three  to 
doubt  the  identit}’-  of  the  adopted  daughter  of  the  house  as  it  would 
be  for  you  who  read  these  lines  to  doubt  the  identity  of  tliO  nearest 
and  dearest  relative  you  have  in  the  world.  Circumstances  had 
fortified  Mercy  behind  the  strongest  of  all  natural  rights — the  ri^rlit 
of  first  possession.  Circumstances  had  armed  her  with  the  most  irre- 
sistible of  all  natural  forces—tlie  force  of  previous  association  and 
previous  habit.  Not  by  so  much  ac  a hair  breadth  was  the  position 
of  the  fals:'  Grace  iloseberry  shaken  by  the  first  appearance  of  the 
true  Grace  Roseberry  within  the  doors  Mablethorpe  House.  Lady 
Janet  felt  euddonly  repelled  without  knowing  why.  Julici  and 
Horace  felt  suddenly  repelled,  without  knowing  why'.  Asked  to 
describe  their  own  sensations  at  the  moment,  they  would  have  shaken 
their  heads  in  despair,  and  would  have  answered  in  those  words. 
The  vague  presentiment  of  some  misfortune  to  come  had  entered  the 
room  with  the  entrance  of  the  woman  in  black.  But  it  moved  in- 
visibly; and  it  spoke  as  all  presentiments  speak,  in  the  Unknown 
Tongue. 

A moment  passed.  The  crackling  of  the  fire  and  the  ticking  of 
die  clock  were  the  only  sounds  audible  in  the  room.  The  voice  of 
the  visitor— hard,  clear,  and  quiet— was  the  first  voice  that  broke  the 
silence. 

Mr.  Julian  Gray?”  she  said,  looking  interrogatively  from  one 
of  the  two  gentlemen  io  the  other. 

Julian  advanced  a few  steps,  instantly  recovering  his  self-posses- 
sion. ‘‘  1 am. very  sorry  I w,:s  not  at  home,”  he  said,  when  you 
called  with  your  letter  iroio  ihe  consul.  Fray  take  a chair.” 

By  way  of  setting  the  example.  Lady  Janet  seated  herself  at  some 
little  distoiice,  with  Horace  I.i  attendance ctanding  near.  8he  bowed 
to  the  stra^i^er  wifii  studious  politeness, but  without  uttering  a wor  l, 
before  she  settled  herself  in  her  chair.  ” I am  obliged  to  listen  lo 
this  person,”  thought  the  old  lady,  ” I'ut  I am  obliged  to  speak 
to  her.  That  is  Julian's  business—not  mine.  Don't  stand, 
Horace!  Yv  i fidget  me.  Sit  down.”  Armed  beforehand  in  her 
policy  of  silence,  Lady  Janet  folded  her  handsome  hands  as  lisoal, 
and  waited  for  the  proceedings  to  begin,  like  a jud2:e  on  the  bench. 

Will  you  take  a chair?”  Julian  repeated,  observing  that  the  visit- 
or appeared  neither  to  heed  nor  to  hear  his  first  words  of  welcome  to 
her.  At  this  second  appeal  she  spoke  to  him.  Is  that  Lady  Janet 
Boy?”  she  asked.  wUh  her  eves  fixed  on  the  mistress  of  the  house. 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH. 


73 


Julian  answered,  and  drew  back  to  watch  the  result.  The  woman  in 
the  poor  black  garments  changed  her  position  for  the  first  time. 
She  moved  slowly  across  the  room  to  the  place  at  which  Lady  Janet 
was  sitting,  and  addressed  her  respectfully  with  perfect  self  posses- 
sion of  manner.  Her  whole  demeanor,  from  the  moment  'when  she 
had  appeared  at  the  door,  had  expressed— at  once  plainly  and  be- 
comingly— confidence  in  the  reception  that  awaited  her. 

“ Almost  the  last  words  my  father  said  to  me  on  his  death-bed, ’’ 
she  began,  “ were  words,  madam,  which  told  me  to  expect  protec- 
tion and  kindness  from  you.”  It  was  not  Lady  Janet’s  business  to 
speak.  She  listened  with  the  blandest  attention.  She  waited  whh 
the  most  exasperating  silence  to  hear  more.  Grace  Koseberry  drew 
back  a step— not  intimidated— only  mortified  and  surprised.  “Was 
my  father  wrong?”  she  asked,  with  a simple^  dignity  of  tone  and 
manner  which  forced  Lady  Janet  to  abandon  her  policy  of  silence, 
in  spite  of  herself. 

“Who  was  your  father?”  she  asked,  coldly. 

Grace  Roseberry  answered  the  question  in  a tone  of  stern  surprise. 

Has  the  servant  not  given  you  my  card?”  she  said.  ” Don’t  you 
know  my  name?” 

” Which  of  your  names?”  rejoined  Lady  Janet."* 

“ I don’t  understand  your  ladyship.” 

I will  make  myself  understood.  You  asked  me  if  I knew  your 
name.  I ask  you,  in  return,  which  name  it  is?  The  name  on  your 
card  is  ‘ Miss  Roseberr3r.’  The  name  marked  on  your  clothes,  when 
you  were  in  the  hospital,  was  " Mercy  Merrick.’  ” 

The  self-possession  which  Grace  had  maintained  from  the  moment 
when  she  had  entered  the  dining-room,  seemed  now,  for  the  first 
time,  to  be  on  the  point  of  failing  her.  She  turned  and  looked  ap- 
pealingly at  Julian,  who  had  thus  far  kept  his  place  apart,  listening 
attentively. 

” Surely,”  she  said,  **  your  friend,  the  consul,  has  told  you  in  his 
fetter  about  the  mark  on  the  clothes?” 

Something  of  the  girlish  hesitation  and  timidity  which  had  marked 
her  demeanor  at  her  interview  with  Mercy  in  the  French  cottage, 
reappeared  in  tone  and  manner  as  the  spoke  tliose  words.  The 
changes — mostly  changes  for  the  worse — wrought  in  her  by  the 
suffering  through  which  she  had  passed  since  that  time,  were  now 
(for  the  moment)  effaced.  All  that  was  left  of  the  better  and  simpler, 
side  of  her  character  asserted  itself  in  her  brief  appeal  to  Julian, 
She  had  hitherto  repelled  him.  He  began  to  feel  a certain  compas^ 
sionate  interest  in  her  now. 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


“ The  consul  has  informed  me  of  what  you  said  to  him/’  he  an- 
swered, kindly.  **  But,  if  you  will  take  my  advice,  1 recommend 
you  to  tell  your  story  to  Lady  Janet  in  your  own  words.” 

Grace  again  addressed  herself  with  bmissive  reluctance  to  Lady 
Janet.  “The  clothes  your  ladyship  .^peaksef,”  she  said,  “were 
the  clothes  of  another  woman.  The  rain  was  pouring  when  the 
soldiers  detained  me  on  the  frontier.  I had  been  exposed  for  hours 
to  the  weather — 1 was  wet  to  the  skin.  The  clothes  marked ' Mercy 
Merrick  ’ were  the  clothes  lent  to  me  by  Mercy  Merrick  herself 

bile  my  own  things  were  drying.  I was  struck  by  the  shell  in 
those  clothes.  I was  carried  away  insensible  in  those  clothes  after 
the  operation  had  been  performed  on  me.” 

Lady  Janet  listened  to  perfection-— and  did  no  more.  She  turned 
confidentially  to  Horace,  and  said  to  him,  in  her  gracefully  ironical 
way,  “ She  is  ready  with  her  explanation.  ” Horace  answered  in  the 
same  tone,  “ A great  deal  too  ready.” 

Grace  looked  from  one  of  them  to  the  other.  A faint  flush  of 
color  showed  itself  in  her  face  for  ti  e first  time.  “ Am  I to  under- 
stand,” she  asked,  with  proud  composure,  “that  you  don’t  be- 
lieve me?” 

Lady  Janet  maintained  her  policy  of  silence.  Che  waved  one 
hand  courteously  toward  Julian,  as  if  to  say,  “ Address  your  in- 
quiries to  the  gentleman  who  introduces  you.”  Julian,  noticing 
the  gesture,  and  observing  the  rising  color  ia  Grace’s  cheeks,  inter- 
fered directly  in  the  interest  of  peace. 

“ Lady  Janet  asked  you  a question  just  now,”  he  said;  “ Lady 
Janet  inquired  who  your  father  was.” 

“ My  father  was  the  late  Colonel  Koseberry.” 

Lady  Jane  made  another  confidential  remark  to  Horace.  “ Her 
assurance  amzes  me!”  she  exclaimed. 

Julian  interposed  before  his  aunt  could  add  a word  more. 
“ Pray  let  us  hear  her,”  he  said,  in  a tone  of  entreaty  which  had 
something  of  the  imperative  in  it  this  time.  He  turned  to  Grace. 
“ Have  you  any  proof  to  produce,”  he  added  in  his  gentler  voice, 
“ which  will  satisfy  ::3that  you  arc  Colonel  Roseberry’s  daughter?” 

Grace  looked  at  Ir’m  indignantly.  “ Proof!”  she  repeated.  “ Is 
my  word  not  enough?” 

Julian  kept  his  temper  perfectly.  “Pardon  me,”  he  rejoined, 

you  forget  that  you  and  Lady  Janet  meet  now  for  the  first  time. 
Try  to  put  yourself  in  my  aunt’s  place.  How  is  she  to  know  that 
you  are  the  late  Colonel  Roseberry’s  daughter?” 

Grace’s  head  sunk  on  her  breast;  she  dropped  into  the  nearest 


THE  ISTEW  MAGDALEK. 


75 


chair.  The  expression  of  her  face  changed  iustantly  from  anger  to 
discouragement.  “Ah,’’  she  exclaimed,  bitterly  “if  I only  had 
the  letters  that  have  been  stolen  from  me!’’ 

“ Letters,’’  asked  Julian,  “ introducing  you  to  Lady  Janet?” 

“Yes.”  She  turned  suddenly  to  Lady  Janet.  “ Let  me  tell  you 
how  I lost  them,”  she  said,  in  the  first  tones  of  entreaty  which  had 
escaped  her  yet. 

Lady  Janet  hesitated.  It  was  not  in  her  generous  nature  to  resist 
the  appeal  that  had  just  been  made  to  her.  The  sympathies  of  Hor- 
ace were  far  less  easily  reached.  He  lightly  launched  a new  shaft 
of  satire— intended  for  the  private  amusement  of  Lady  Janet.  “ An- 
other explanation!”  he  exclaimed,  with  a look  of  comic  resignation. 
Julian  overheard  the  words,  His  large  lustrous  eyes  fixed  them- 
selves on  Horace  with  a look  of  measured  contempt. 

“ The  least  you  can  do,”  he  said,  sternly,  “ is  not  to  irritate  her. 
It  is  so  easy  to  irritate  her!”  He  addressed  himself  again  to  Grace, 
endeavoring  to  help  her  through  her  difficulty  in  a new  way. 
“ Never  mind  explaining  yourself  for  the  moment,”  he  said.  “ In 
the  absence  of  your  letters,  have  you  any  one  in  London  who  can 
speak  to  your  identity?” 

Grace  shook  her  head  sadly.  “I  have  no  friends  in  London,” 
she  answered.  It  was  impossible  for  Lady  Janet — who  had  never 
in  her  life  heard  of  anybody  without  friends  in  London— to  pass 
this  over  without  notice.  “No' friend  in  London!”  she  repeated, 
turning  to  Horace.  Horace  shot  another  shaft  of  light  satire. 
“ Of  course  not!”  he  rejoined. 

Grace  saw  them  comparing  notes.  “ My  friends  are  in  Canada,” 
she  broke  out,  impetuously.  “ Plent}"  of  friends  who  could  speak 
for  me,  if  1 could  only  bring  them  here.” 

As  a place  of  reference— mentioned  in  the  capital  city  of  England 
—Canada,  there  is  no  denying  it,  is  open  to  objection  on  the  ground 
of  distance.  Horace  was  ready  with  another  shot.  “Far  enough 
off,  certainly,”  he  said.  “ Far  enough  off,  as  you  say,”  Lady  Janet 
agreed. 

Once  more  Julian’s  inexhaustible  kindness  strove  to  obtain  a 
hearing  for  the  stranger  who  had  been  confided  to  his  care.  “ A 
little  patience.  Lady  Janet,”  he  pleaded.  “A  little  consideration, 
Horace,  for  a friendless  woman.” 

“ Thank  you.  Sir,”  said  Grace.  “ It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  try  and 
help  me,  but  it  is  useless.  They  won’t  even  listen  t^  me.”  She  at- 
tempted to  rise  from  her  chair  as  slie  pronounced  the  last  words. 


76 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


Julian  gently  laid  bis  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  obliged  her  to  re* 
sume  her  seat. 

1 will  listen  to  you,”  he  said.  ” You  referred  me  just  now  to 
the  consul’s  letter.  The  consul  tells  me  you  suspected  some  one  of 
taking  your  papers  and  your  clothes.” 

” I dcm’t  suspect,”  was  the  quick  reply;  I am  certain!  I tell 
you  positively  Mercy  Merrick  was  the  thief.  She  was  alone  with 
me  when  I was  struck  down  by  the  shell.  She  was  the  only  person 
Who  knew  that  I had  letters  of  introduction  about  me.  She  con- 
fessed to  my  face  that  she  had  been  a bad  woman— she  had  been  in 
a prison — she  had'  come  out  of  a refuge—” 

Julian  stopped  her  there  with  one  plain  question,  which  threw 
a doubt  on  the  whole  story. 

‘‘  The  consul  tells  me  you  asked  him  to  search  for  Mercy  Merrick,” 
he  said.  ” Is  it  not  true  that  he  caused  inquiries  to  be  made,  and 
that  no  trace  of  any  such  person  was  to  be  heard  of?” 

The  consul  took  no  pains  to  find  her,”  Grace  answered,  angrily. 
” He  was,  like  eveiybody  else,  in  a conspiracy  to  neglect  and  mis- 
judge me.” 

Lady  Janet  and  Horace  exchanged  looks.  This  time  it  was  im 
possible  for  Julian  to  blame  them.  The  further  the  stranger’s  nar- 
rative advanced,  the  less  worthy  of  serious  attention  he  fell  it  to  be. 
The  longer  she  spoke,  the  more  disadvantageously  she  challenged 
comparison  with  the  absent  woman,  whose  name  she  so  obstinately 
and  so  audaciously  persisted  in  assuming  as  her  own. 

” Granting  all  that  you  have  said,”  Julian  resumed,  with  a last 
effort  of  patience,  ” what  use  could  Mercy  Merrick  make  of  your 
letters  and  your  clothes?” 

What  use?”  repeated  Grace,  amazed  at  his  not  seeing  the  posi 
tion  as  she  saw  it.  My  clothes  were  marked  with  my  name.  One 
of  my  papers  was  a letter  from  my  father,  introducing  me  to 
Lady  Janet.  A woman  out  of  a refuge  would  be  quite  capable  of 
presenting  herself  here  in  my  place.” 

Spoken  entirely  vX  random,  spoken  without  so  much  as  a frag- 
ment of  evidence  to  support  them,  those  last  words  still  had  their 
effect.  They  cast  a reflection  on  Lady  Janet’s  adopted  daughter 
which  was  too  outrageous  to  be  borne.  Lady  Janet  rose  instantly. 
“ Give  me  your  arm,  Horace,”  she  said,  turning  to  leave  the  room. 
“I  have  heard  enough.”  Horace  respectfully  offered  his  arm. 
” Your  ladyship  is  quite  right,”  he  answered.  ” A more  monstrous 
story  never  was  invented.”  He  spoke,  in  the  warmth  of  his  indig* 


THE  KEW  MAOTALEK.  77 

natioD,  loud  enough  for  Grace  to  hear  him.  “ What  is  there  mon- 
strous in  it?”  she  asked,  advancing  a step  toward  him,  defiantly. 

Julian  checked  her.  He  too— though  he  had  only  once  seen  Mercy 
— feit  an  angry  sense  of  the  insult  offered  to  the  beautiful  creature 
who  had  interested  him  at  his  first  sight  of  her.  “ Silence!”  he  said, 
speaking  sternly  to  Grace  for  the  first  time.  ” You  are  offending 
—justly  offending — Lady  Janet.  You  are  talking  worse  than  ab- 
surdly— you  are  talking  offensively — when  you  speak  of  another 
woman  presenting  herself  here  in  your  place.” 

Grace's  blood  was  up.  Stung  by  Julian’s  reproof,  she  turned  on 
him  a look  which  was  almost  a look  of  fury.  “ Are  you  a clergyman? 
Are  you  an  educated  man?”  she  asked.  “ Have  you  never  read  of 
cases  of  false  personaticn,  in  newspapers  and  books?  1 blindly 
confided  in  Mercy  Merrick  before  I found  out  what  her  character 
really  was.  She  left  the  cottage— 1 know  it,  from  the  surgeon  who 
brought  me  to  life  again— firmly'  persuaded  that  the  shell  had  killed 
me.  My  papBis  and  my  clothes  disappeiired  at  the  same  time.  Is 
there  nothing  suspicious  in  these  circumstances?  There  were  people 
at  the  hospital  who  thought  them  highly  suspicious — people  who 
warned  me  that  1 might  find  an  impostor  in  my  place.”  .She 
suddenly  paused.  The  rustling  sound  of  a silk  dress  had  caught 
her  ear.  Lady  Janet  was  leaving  the  room,  with  Horace,  by  way 
of  the  conservatory.  With  a last  effort  of  resolution,  Grace  sprang 
forward  and  placed  herself  in  front  of  them. 

‘‘  One  word.  Lady  Janet,  before  you  turn  your  back  on  me,”  she 
said,  firmly.  One  w ord,  and  1 will  be  content.  Has  Colonel 
Roseberry’s  letter  found  its  way  to  this  house  or  not?  If  it  has, 
did  a woman  bring  it  to  you?”  Lady  Janet  looked — as  only  a great 
lady  can  look,  when  a person  of  inferior  rank  has  presumed  to  fail 
in  respect  toward  her. 

‘‘  You  are  surely  not  aware,”  she  said,  with  icy  composure,  “ that 
these  questions  are  an  insult  to  Me?” 

“And  worse  than  an  insult,”  Horace  added,  warmly,  “to 
Grace!” 

The  little  resolute  .black  figure  (still  barring  the  way  to  the  con- 
servatory) was  suddenly  shaken  from  head  to  foot.  The  woman’s 
eyes  traveled  backward  and  forward  between  Lady  Janet  and  Hor- 
ace with  the  light  of  a new  suspicion  in  them. 

“ Grace!”  she  exclaimed.  “ What  Grace  ? That’s  my  name. 
Lady  Janet,  you  ham  got  the  letter!  The  woman  is  here!” 

Lady  Janet  dropped  Horace’s  arm,  and  retraced  her  steps  to  the 
place  at  which  her  nephew  was  standing. 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


78 

“ Julian,*’  she  said.  You  force  me  for  the  first  time  in  my  life 
to  remind  you  of  the  respect  that  is  due  to  me  in  my  own  house. 
Send  that  woman  away.** 

Without  waiting  to  be  answered,  she  turned  back  again,  and  once 
more  took  Horace’s  arm.  ‘‘  Stand  back,  if  you  please,”  she  said, 
quietly,  to  Grace. 

Grace  held  her  ground.  ‘‘  The  woman  is  here!”  she  repeated. 
“ Confront  me  with  her — and  then  send  me  away  if  you  like.” 

Julian  advanced,  and  firmly  took  her  by  the  arm.  “ l^ou  forget 
what  is  due  to  Lady  Janet,”  he  said,  drawing  her  aside.  “You 
forget  what  is  due  to  yourself.” 

With  a desperate  effort,  Grace  broke  away  from  him,  and  stopped 
Lady  Janet  on  the  threshold  of  the  conservatory  door.  “ Justice!” 
she  cried,  shaking  her  ciinched  hand  with  hysterical  frenzy  in  the 
air.  “ 1 claim  my  right  to  meet  that  woman  face  to  face!  Where 
is  she?  Confront  me  with  her!  Confront  me  with  her!” 

While  those  wild  words  were  pouring  from  her  lips,  the  rumbling 
of  carriage  wheels  became  audible  on  the  drive  in  front  of  the 
house.  In  the  all-absorbing  agitation  of  the  moment,  the  sound  of 
the  wheels  (followed  by  the  opening  of  the  house  door)  passed  un- 
noticed by  the  persons  in  the  dining-room.  Horace’s  voice  was  still 
raised  in  ajigry  protest  against  the  insult  offered  to  Lady  Janet; 
Lady  Janet  herself  (leaving  him  for  the  second  time)  was  vehement- 
ly ringing  the  bell  to  summon  the  servants;  Julian  had  once  more 
taken  the  infuriated  woman  by  the  arm,  and  was  trying  vainly  to 
compose  her — when  the  library  door  was  opened  quietly  by  a young 
lady  wearing  a mantle  and  a bonnet.  Mercy  Merrick  (true  to  the 
appointment  which  she  had  made  with  Horace)  entered  the  room. 
The  first  eyes  that  discovered  her  presence  on  the  scene  were  the 
eyes  of  Grace  Roseberry.  Starting  violently  in  Julian’s  grasp,  she 
pointed  toward  the  door.  “ Ah!”  she  cried,  with  a shriek  of  vin- 
dictive delight.  “ There  she  is!” 

Mercy  turned  as  the  sound  of  the  scream  rang  through  the  room, 
and  met — resting  on  her  in  savage  triumph — the  living  gaze  of  the 
woman  whose  identity  she  had  stolen,  whose  body  she  had  left  laid 
out  for  dead.  On  the  instant  of  that  terrible  discovery — with  her 
eyes  fixed  helplessly  on  the  fierce  eyes  that  had  found  her — she 
dropped  senseless  on  the  floor. 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


79 


CHAPTER  XIL 

EXIT  JULIAN. 

Julian  happened  to  be  standing  nearest  to  Mercy.  He  was  the 
first  at  her  side  when  she  fell. 

In  the  cry  oi  alarm  which  burst  from  him,  as  he  raised  her  for  a 
moment  in  his  arms,  in  the  expression  of  his  eyes  when  he  looked 
at  her  death-like  face,  there  escaped  the  plain— too  plain — confes- 
sion of  the  interest  which  he  felt  in  her,  of  the  admiration  which 
she  had  aroused  in  him.  Horace  detected  it.  There  was  the  quick 
suspicion  of  jealousy  in  the  movement  by  which  he  joined  Julian; 
there  was  the  ready  resentment  of  jealousy  in  the  tone  in  which  he 
pronounced  the  words,  Leave  her  to  me.’*  Julian  resigned  her  in 
silence.  A faint  flush  appeared  on  his  pale  face  as  he  drew  back 
while  Horace  carried  her  to  the  sofa.  His  eyes  sank  to  the  ground; 
he  seemed  to  be  meditating  self-reproachfully  on  the  tone  in  which 
his  friend  had  spoken  to  him.  After  having  been  the  first  to  take 
an  active  part  in  meeting  the  calamity  that  had  happened,  he  was 
now  to  all  appearance  insensible  to  everything  that  was  passing  in 
the  room. 

A touch  on  his  shoulder  roused  him. 

He  turned  and  looked  round.  The  woman  who  had  done  the 
mischief — the  stranger  in  the  poor  black  garments— was  standing 
behind  him.  She  pointed  to  the  prostrate  figure  on  the  sofa,  with  a 
mercilesss  smile.  “ You  wanted  a proof  just  now,”  she  said. 
” There  it  is!” 

Horace  heard  her.  He  suddenly  left  the  sofa  and  joined  Julian. 
His  face,  naturally  ruddy,  was  pale  with  suppressed  fury. 

” Take  that  wretch  away!”  he  said.  ” Instantly!  or  I won’t  an- 
swer for  what  1 may  do.” 

Those  words  recalled  Julian  to  himself.  He  looked  round  the 
room.  Lady  Janet  and  the  housekeeper  were  together,  in  attend- 
ance on  the  swooning  woman.  The  startled  servants  were  congre- 
gated in  the  library  doorway.  One  of  them  offered  to  run  to  the 
nearest  doctor;  another  asked  if  he  should  fetch  the  police.  Julian 
silenced  them  by  a gesture,  and  turned  to  Horace.  ” Compose 
yourself,”  he  said.  “Leave  me  to  remove  her  from  the  house.” 
He  took  Grace  by  the  hand  as  he  spoke.  She  hesitated  and  tried  to 
release  herself.  Julian  pointed  to  the  group  at  the  sofa  and  to  th^ 


80 


THE  2^EW  MAGDALEK. 


servants  looking  on.  “ You  have  made  an  enemy  of  every  one  in 
this  room,”  he  said,  “ and  you  have  not  a friend  in  London.  Do 
you  wish  to  make  an  enemy  of  me  V'  Her  head  drooped;  she  made 
no  reply;  she  waited,  dumbly  obedient  to  the  firmer  will  than  her 
own.  Julian  ordered  the  servants  crowding  together  in  the  doorway 
to  withdraw.  He  followed  them  into  the  librar}^,  leading  Grace 
after  him  by  the  hand.  Before  closing  the  door  he  paused,  and 
looked  back  into  the  dining-room. 

Is  she  recovering?”  he  asked,  after  a moment’s  hesitation.  Lady 
Janet’s  voice  answered  him.  Not  yet.”  “ Shall  1 send  for  the 
nearest  doctor?” 

Horace  interposed.  He  declined  to  let  Julian  associate  himself, 
even  in  that  indirect  manner,  with  Mercy’s  recovery. 

“ If  the  doctor  is  wanted,”  he  said,  I will  go  for  him  myself.” 

Julian  closed  the  library  door.  He  absently  released  Grace;  he 
mechanically  pointed  to  a chair.  She  sat  down  in  silent  surprise, 
following  him  with  her  eyes  as  he  walked  slowly  to  and  fro  in  the 
room. 

For  the  moment  his  mind  was  far  away  from  her,  and  from  all 
that  happened  since  her  appearance  in  the  house.  It  was  impossible 
that  a man  of  his  fineness  of  perception  could  mistake  the  meaning 
of  Horace’s  conduct  toward  him.  He  was  questioning  his  own 
heart,  on  the  subject  of  Mercy,  sternly  and  unreservedly  as  it  was 
his  habit  to  do.  ” After  only  once  seeing  her,’  he  thought,  ” has 
she  produced  such  an  impression  on  me  that  Horace  can  discover  it, 
before  I have  even  suspected  it  myself?  Can  the  time  have  come 
already,  when  I owe  it  to  my  friend  to  see  her  no  more?”  He 
stopped  irritably  in  his  walk.  As  a man  devoted  to  a serious  call- 
ing in  life,  there  was  something  that  wounded  his  self-respect  in  the 
bare  suspicion  that  he  could  be  guilty  of  the  purely  sentimental  ex- 
travagance called  ” love  at  first  sight.” 

He  had  paused  exactly  opposite  to  the  chair  in  which  Grace  was 
seated.  Weary  of  the  silence,  she  seized  the  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing to  him. 

” I have  come  here  with  you  as  you  wished,”  she  said.  ” Are 
you  going  to  help  me?  Am  I to  count  on  you  as  my  friend?” 

He  looked  at  her  vacantly.  It  cost  him  an  effort  before  he  could 
give  her  the  attention  that  she  had  claimed. 

'‘You  have  been  hard  on  me,”  Grace  went  on.  “But  you 
showed  me  some  kindness  at  first;  you  tried  to  make  them  give  me 
a fair  hearing.  I ask  you,  as  a just  man,  do  you  doubt  now  iliat 
the  woman  on  the  sofa  in  the  next  room  is  an  impostor  who  l:as 


1 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH'.  81 

taken  my  place?  Can  there  be  any  plainer  confession  that  she  is 
Mercy  Merrick  than  the  confession  she  has  made?  You  saw  it; 
they  saw  it.  She  fainted  at  the  sight  of  me.’' 

Julian  crossed  the  room— still  without  answering  her— and  rang 
the  bell.  When  the  servant  appeared,  he  told  the  man  to  fetch  a 
cab?  Grace  rose  from  her  chair.  “ What  is  the  cab  for?”  she 
asked,  sharply.  ‘‘For  you  and  for  me,”  Julian  replied.  ‘‘lam 
going  to  take  you  back  to  your  lodgings.” 

” I refuse  to  go.  My  place  is  in  this  house.  Neither  Lady  Janet 
nor  you  can  get  over  the  plain  facts.  All  I asl.ed  was  to  be  con- 
fronted with  her.  And  what  did  she  do  when  she  came  into  the 
room?  She  fainted  at  the  sight  of  me.” 

Reiterating  her  one  triumphant  assertion,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on 
Julian  with  a look  which  said  plainly,  Answer  that  if  you  can.  In 
mercy  to  lier^  Julian  answered  it  on  the  spot. 

“ So  far  as  I understand,”  he  said,  ” you  appear  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  no  innocent  woman  would  have  fainted  on  first  seeing 
you.  I have  something  to  tell  you  which  will  alter  your  opinion. 
On  her  arrival  in  England  this  lady  informed  my  aunt  that  she  had 
met  with  you  accidentally  on  the  French  frontier,  and  that  she  had 
seen  you  (so  far  as  slie  knew)  struck  dead  at  her  side  by  a shell. 
Remember  that,  and  recall  what  happened  now.  Without  a word 
to  w'arn  her  of  your  restoration  to  life,  she  finds  herself  suddenly 
face  to  face  with  you,  a living  woman— and  this  at  a time  when  it  is 
easy  for  any  one  who  looks  at  her  to  see  that  she  is  in  delicate  health. 
What  is  there  wonderful,  what  is  there  unaccountable,  in  her  faint- 
ing under  such  circumstances  as  these?” 

The  question  was  plainly  put.  Where  was  the  answer  to  it? 
There  was  no  answer  to  it.  Mercy’s  wisely  candid  statement  of  the 
manner  in  which  she  had  first  met  with  Grace,  and  of  the  accident 
which  had  followed,  had  served  Mercy’s  purpose  but  too  well.  It 
was  simply  impossible  for  persons  acquainted  with  that  statement 
to  attach  a guilty  meaning  to  the  swoon.  The  false  Grace  Roseberry 
was  still  as  far  beyond  the  reach  of  suspicion  as  ever,  and  the  true 
Grace  was  quick  enough  to  see  it.  She  sank  into. the  chair  from 
which  she  had  risen ; her  hands  fell  in  hopeless  despair  on  her  lap. 

“Everything  is  against  me,”  she  said.  “ The  truth  itself  turns 
liar,  and  takes  Tier  side.”  She  paused  and  rallied  her  sinking  cour- 
age. “ No  I”  she  cried,  resolutely,  “I  won’t  submit  to  have  my 
name  and  my  place  taken  from  me  by  a vile  adventuress!  Say  wha^ 
you  like,  I insist  on  exposing  her;  I won’t  leave  the  house!” 

The  servant  entered  the  room,  and  announced  that  the  cab  was  at 


82 


THE  ISTEW  MAGDALEK. 


the  door.  Grace  turned  to  Julian  with  a defiant  wave  of  her  hand 
“ Don’t  let  me  detain  you,”  she  said.  “ I see  I have  neither  advice 
nor  help  to  expect  from  Mr.  Julian  Gray.”  Julian  beckoned  to  the 
servant  to  follow  him  into  a corner  of  the  room. 

“ Do  you  know  if  the  doctor  has  been  sent  for?”  he  asked. 

“ I believe  not,  sir.  It  is  said  in  the  servants’  hall  that  the  doctor 
is  not  wanted.” 

Julian  was  too  anxious  to  be  satisfied  with  a report  from  the  serv- 
ants’ hall.  He  hastily  wrote  on  a slip  of  paper:  ” Has  she  recov- 
ered?” and  gave  the  note  to  the  man,  with  directions  to  take  it  to 
Lady  Janet. 

“ Did  you  hear  what  1 said?”  Grace  inquired,  while  the  messenger 
was  absent  in  the  dining-room. 

” I will  answer  you  directly,”  said  Julian. 

The  servant  appeared  again  as  he  spoke,  with  some  lines  in  pencil 
written  by  Lady  Janet  on  the  back  of  Julian’s  note.  ” Thank  God, 
we  have  revived  her.  In  a few  minutes  we  hope  to  be  able  to  take 
her  to  her  room.” 

The  nearest  way  to  Mercy’s  room  was  through  the  library.  Grace’s 
immediate  removal  had  now  become  a necessity  which  was  not  to  be 
trifled  with.  Julian  addressed  himself  to  meeting  the  difliculty  the 
instant  he  was  left  alone  with  Grace. 

“ Listen  to  me,”  he  said.  The  cab  is  waiting,  and  I have  my 
last  words  to  say  to  you.  You  are  now  (thanks  to  the  consul’s 
recommendation)  in  my  care.  Decide  at  once  whether  you  will  re- 
main under  my  charge,  or  whether  you  will  transfer  yourself  to  the 
charge  of  the  police.” 

Grace  started.  “ What  do  ^ou  mean?”  she  asked,  angrily. 

If  you  wish  to  remain  under  my  charge,”  Julian  proceeded, 
“ you  will  accompany  me  at  once  to  the  cab.  In  that  case  I will  un- 
dertake to  give  you  an  opportunity  of  telling  your  story  to  my  own 
lawyer.  He  will  be  a fitter  person  to  advise  you  than  I am.  IToth- 
ing  will  induce  me  to  believe  that  the  lady  whom  you  have  accused  has 
committed,  or  is  capable  of  committing,  such  a fraud  as  you  charge 
her  with.  You  will  hear  what  the  lawyer  thinks,  if  you  come  with 
me.  If  you  refuse,  I shall  have  no  choice  but  to  send  into  the  next 
room,  and  tell  them  that  you  are  still  here.  The  result  will  be  that 
you  will  find  yourself  in  charge  of  the  police.  Take  which  course 
you  like ; I will  give  you  a minute  to  decide.  And  renjember  this, 
if  I appear  to  express  myself  harshly,  it  is  your  conduct  which  forces 
me  to  speak  out.  I mean  kindly  toward  you;  I am  advising  you 
h('ncstly  for  your  good.’* 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEK. 


83 


He  took  out  liis  wiitcli  to  count  the  minute.  Grace  stole  one  fur- 
tive glance  at  his  steady,  resolute  face.  She  was  perfectly  unmoved 
by  the  manly  consideration  for  her  which  Julian’s  last  words  had  ex- 
pressed. All  she  understood  was  that  he  was  not  a man  to  be  trifled 
with.  Future  opportunities  would  offer  themselves  of  returning 
secretly  to  the  house.  She  determined  to  yield — and  deceive  him. 

“ I am  ready  to  go,”  she  said,  rising  with  dogged  submission. 

Your  turn  now,”  she  muttered  to  herself,  as  she  turned  to  the  look- 
ing-glass to  arrange  her  shawl.  ” My  turn  will  come.” 

Julian  advanced  toward  her,  as  if  to  offer  her  his  arm,  and  checked 
himself.  Firmly  persuaded  as  he  was  that  her  mind  v'as  deranged 
—readily  as  he  admitted  that  she  claimed,  in  virtue  of  her  aflliclion, 
every  indulgence  that  he  could  extend  to  her — there  was  something 
repellent  to  him  at  that  moment  in  the  bare  idea  of  touching  her. 
The  image  of  the  beautiful  creature  who  was  the  object  of  her  mon- 
strous accusation — the  image  of  Mercy  as  she  lay  helpless  for  a mo- 
ment in  his  arms — was  vivid  in  his  mind  while  he  opened  the  door 
that  led  into  the  hall,  and  drew  back  to  let  Grace  pass  out  before 
him.  He  left  the  servant  to  help  her  into  the  cab.  The  man  respect- 
fully addressed  him  as  he  took  his  seat  opposite  to  Grace. 

‘‘  1 am  ordered  to  say  that  your  room  is  ready,  sir,  and  that  her 
ladyship  expects  you  to  dinner.” 

Absorbed  in  the  events  which  had  followed  his  aunt’s  invitation, 
Julian  had  forgotten  his  engagement  to  stay  at  JMablethorpe  House. 
Could  he  return,  knowing  his  own  heart  as  he  now  knew  it?  Could 
he  honorably  remain,  perhaps  for  weeks  together,  in  Mercy’s  societj', 
conscious  as  he  now  was  of  the  impression  which  she  had  produced 
on  him?  No.  The  one  honorable  course  that  he  could  take  was  to 
find  an  excuse  for  withdrawino:  from  his  engagement.  “ Beg  her 
ladyship  not  to  wait  dinner  for  me,”  he  said.  “ I will  write  and 
make  my  apologies.  ” The  cab  drove  off.  The  wondering  servant 
waited  on  the  doorstep,  looking  after  it.  “I  wouldn’t  stand  in  Mr. 
Julian’s  shoes  for  something,”  he  thought,  with  his  mind  running 
on  the  difficulties  of  the  young  clergyman’s  position.  “ There  she 
is  along  with  him  in  the  cab.  What  is  he  going  to  do  with  her  after 
that?  ’ Julian  himself,  if  it  had  been  put  to  him  at  the  moment, 
could  not  have  answered  the  question. 

Lady  Janet’s  anxiety  was  far  from  being  relieved  when  Mercy  had 
been  restored  to  her  senses  and  conducted  to  her  own  room. 

Mercy’s  mind  remained  in  a condition  of  unreasoning  alarm, 
which  it  was  impossible  to  remove.  Over  and  over  again  she  was 
told  that  the  woman  who  had  terrifie:;  )jrr  liad  left  the  house,  and 


84  ’ ■ '':dlE  MAGDALEK. 

would  never  be  permitted  to  enter  it  more.  Over  and  over  again  she 
was  assured  that  the  stranger's  frantic  assertions  were  regarded  by 
everybody  about  her  as  unworthy  a moment's  serious  attention.  She 
persisted  in  doubting  whether  they  were  telling  her  the  truth.  A 
shocking  distrust  of  her  friends  seemed  to  possess  her.  She  shrank 
when  Lady  Janet  approached  the  bedside.  She  shuddered  when 
Lady  Janet  kissed  her.  She  flatly  refused  to  let  Horace  see  her. 
She  asked  the  strangest  questions  about  Julian  Gray,  and  shook  her 
head  suspiciously  when  they  told  her  that  he  was  absent  from  the 
house.  At  intervals  she  hid  her  face  in  the  bedclothes  and  mur- 
mured to  herself  piteously,  “Oh,  what  shall  1 do?  What  shall  I 
do?"  At  other  times  her  one  petition  was  to  be  left  alone.  “ 1 want 
nobody  in  my  room" — that  washer  sullen  cry— “nobody  in  my 
room." 

The  evening  advanced  and  brought  with  it  no  change  for  the  bet- 
ter. Lady  Janet,  by  the  advice  of  Horace,  sent  for  her  own  medical 
adviser.  The  doctor  shook  his  head.  The  symptoms,  he  said,  in- 
dicated a serious  shock  to  the  nervous  system.  He  wrote  a sedative 
prescription;  and  he  gave  (with  a happy  choice  of  language)  some 
sound  and  safe  advice.  It  amounted  briefly  to  this:  " Take  her 
away  and  try  the  seaside."  Lady  Janet's  customary  energy  acted 
on  the  advice  without  a moment’s  needless  delay.  She  gave  the 
necessary  directions  for  packing  the  trunks  overnight,  and  decided 
on  leaving  Mablethorpe  House  with  Mercy  the  next  morning. 
Shortly  after  tlie  doctor  had  taken  his  departure  a letter  from  Julian, 
addressed  to  Lady  Janet,  was  delivered  by  private  messenger.  Be- 
ginning with  the  necessary  apologies  for  the  writer’s  absence,  the  let- 
ter proceeded  in  these  terms : 

“ Before  I permitted  my  companion  to  see  the  lawyer,  I felt  the 
necessity  of  consulting  him  as  to  my  present  position  toward  her 
first. 

“ I told  him — what  1 think  it  only  right  to  repeat  to  you — that  I 
do  not  feel  justified  in  acting  on  my  own  opinion  that  her  mind  is 
deranged.  In  the  case  of  this  friendless  woman  I want  medical 
authority,  and,  more  even  than  that,  I want  some  positive  proof,  to 
satisfy  my  conscience  as  well  as  to  confirm  my  view. 

“ Finding  me  obstinate  on  this  point,  the  lawyer  undertook  to 
consult  a physician  accustomed  to  the  treatment  of  the  insane,  on  my 
behalf. 

“ After  sending  a message  and  receivins  the  answer,  he  said, 
‘ Bring  the  lady  here — in  half  an  hour;  she  shall  tell  her  story  to  the 
<^toetor  insleati  of  telling  it  to  me.'  The  proposal  rather  staggered 
^ .,.«Ked  how  it  was  possible  to  induce  her  to  do  that.  He 
laughed  and  answered,  ‘ I shall  present  the  doctor  as  my  senior  part 
ner:  my  Senior  partner  will  be  tijc  very  man  t<)  advise  her.'  You 


THE  isEW  MAGDALEK. 


85 


know  tliat  I hate  all  deception,  even  where  the  end  in  view  appears 
to  justify  it.  On  this  occasion,  however,  there  was  no  other  alterna- 
tive than  to  let  the  lawyer  take  his  own  course,  or  to  run  the  risk  of 
a delay  which  might  be  followed  by  serious  results. 

“ I waited  in  a room  by  myself  (feeling  very  uneasy,  I own)  until 
the  doctor  joined  me  after  the  interview  was  over. 

His  opinion  is  briefly,  this: 

“ After  careful  examination  of  the  unfortunate  creature,  bethinks 
that  there  are  unmistakably  symptoms  of  mental  aberration.  But 
how  far  the  mischief  has  gone,  and  whether  her  case  is  or  is  not, 
sufficiently  grave  to  render  actual  restraint  necessary,  he  cannot  pos- 
itively say,  in  our  present  state  of  ignorance  as  to  facts. 

* Thus  far,'  he  observed,  ‘ we  know  nothing  of  that  part  of  her 
delusion  which  relates  to  Mercy  Merrick.  The  solution  of  the  diffi- 
culty, in  this  case,  is  to  be  found  there.  I entirely  agree  with  the 
lady  that  the  inquiries  of  the  consul  at  Mannheim  are  far  from 
being  conclusive.  Furnish  me  with  satisfactory  evidence  either 
that  there  is,  or  is  not,  such  a person  really  in  existence  as  JVIercy 
Merrick,  and  1 will  give  you  a positive  opinion  on  the  case  when- 
ever you  choose  to  ask  for  it. ' 

“ Those  word  have  decided  me  on  starting  for  the  Continent  and 
renewing  the  search  for  Mercy  Merrick. 

My  friend  the  lawyer  wonders  jocosely  whether  I am  in  my  right 
senses.  His  advice  is  that  I should  apply  to  the  nearest  magistrate, 
and  relieve  you  and  myself  of  further  trouble  in  that  way. 

Perhaps  you  agree  with  him?  My  dear  aunt  (as  you  have  often 
said),  I do  nothing  like  other  people,  i am  interested  in  this  case. 
I cannot  abandon  a forlorn  woman  who  has  been  confided  to  me  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  strangers,  so  long  as  there  is  an}'^  hope  of  my 
making  discoveries  which  may  be  instrumental  in  restoring  her  to 
herself — perhaps,  also,  in  restoring  her  to  her  friends, 

“ 1 start  by  the  mail-train  of  to-night.  My  plan  is  to  go  first  to 
Mannheim  and  consult  with  the  consul  and  the  hospital  doctors; 
then  to  find  my  way  to  the  German  surgeon  and  to.  question  him; 
and  that  done,  to  make  the  last  and  hardest  effort  of  all— the  effort 
to  trace  the  French  ambulance  and  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of 
Mercy  Merrick. 

“ Immediately  on  my  return  I will  wait  on  you,  and  tell  you  what 
I have  accomplished,  or  how  I have  failed. 

“ In  the  meanwhile,  pray  be  under  no  alarm  about  the  reappear- 
ance of  this  unhappy  woman  at  your  house.  She  is  fully  occupied 
in  writing  (at  my  suggestion)  to  her  friends  in  Canada;  and  she  is 
under  the  care  of  the  landlady  at  her  lodgings— an  experienced  and 
trustworth3^  person,  who  has  satisfied  the  doctor  as  well  as  myself  of 
her  fitness  for  the  charge  that  she  has  undertaken. 

‘‘  Pray  mention  this  to  Miss  Roseberry  (whenever  you  think  it 
desirable),  with  the  respectful  expression  of  my  sympathy,  and 
of  my  best  wishes  for  her  speedy  restoration  to  health.  And  once 
more  forgive  me  for  failing,  under  stress  of  necessity,  to  enjoy  the 
hospitality  of  Mablethorpe  House." 

Lady  Janet  closed  Julian’s  letter,  feeling  far  from  satisfied  witn 
it.  She  sat  f#r  a while,  pondering  over  what  her  nephew  had  written 


86 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


to  Ler.  One  of  two  things,”  thought  the  quick-witted  old  iadj, 
” Either  the  lawyer  is  right,  and  Julian  is  a fit  companion  for  the 
madwoman  whom  he  has  taken  under  his  charge,  or  he  has  some 
second  motive  for  this  absurd  journey  of  his  which  he  has  carefully 
abstained  from  mentioning  in  his  letter.  What  can  the  motive  be?” 

At  intervals  during  the  night  that  question  recurred  to  her  lady- 
ship again  and  again.  The  utmost  exercise  of  her  ingenuity  failing 
to  answer  it,  her  one  resource  left  was  to  wait  patiently  for  Julian’s 
return,  and,  in  her  own  favorite  phrase,  to  '‘have  it  out  of  him” 
then.  The  next  morning  Lady  Janet  and  her  adopted  daughter  loft 
Mablethorpe  House  for  Brighton;  Horace  (who  had  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  accompany  them)  being  sentenced  to  remain  in  London 
by  Mercy’s  express  desire.  Why— -nobody  could  guess;  and  Mercy 
refused  to  say. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

ENTER  JULIAN. 

A WEEK  has  passed.  The  scene  opens  again  in  the  dining-room 
of  Mablethorpe  House. 

The  hospitable  table  bears  once  more  its  burden  of  good  things 
for  lunch.  But,  on  this  occasion,  Lady  Janet  sits  alone.  Her  at- 
tention is  divided  between  reading  her  newspaper  and  feeding  her 
cat.  The  cat  is  a sleek  and  splendid  creature.  He  carries  an  erect 
tail.  He  rolls  luxuriously  on  the  soft  carpet.  He  approaches  his 
mistress  in  a series  of  coquettish  curves.  He  smells  with  dainty 
hesitation  at  the  choicest  morsels  that  can  be  offered  to  him.  The 
musical  monotony  of  his  purring  falls  soothingly  on  her  ladyship’s 
ear.  IShe  stops  in  the  middle  of  a leading  article  and  looks  with  a 
careworn  face  at  the  happy  cat  ” Upon  my  honor,”  cries  Lady 
Janet,  thinking,  in  her  in  veterately  ironical  manner,  of  the  cares  that 
trouble  her,  "all  things  considered,  Tom,.  I wish  I was  You!” 
The  cat  starts— not  at  his  mistress’s  complimentary  apostrophe,  but 
at  a knock  at  the  door,  which  follows  close  upon  it.  Lady  Janet 
says,  carelessly  enough,  "Come  in;”  looks  round  listlessly  to  see 
who  it  is;  and  starts,  like  the  cat,  when  the  door  opens  and  discloses 
—Julian  Gray  I 

" You — or  your  ghost?”  she  exclaims. 

She  has  noticed  already  that  Julian  is  paler  than  usual,  and  that 
.here  is  something  m his  manner  at  once  uneasy  and  subdued— 
highly  uncharacteristic  of  him  at  other  times.  He  takes  a seat  by 
her  side,  and  kisses  her  h^nd.  But  for  the  first  time  in  fiis 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEK. 


8? 


experience  of  him — he  refuses  the  good  things  on  the  luncheon- 
table,  and  he  has  nothing  to  say  to  the  cat!  That  neglected  animal 
takes  refuge  on  Lady  Janet’s  lap.  Lady  Janet,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
expectantly  on  her  nephew  (determining  to  “ have  it  out  of  him  ” at 
the  first  opportunity),  waits  to  hear  what  he  has  to  say  for  himself. 
Julian  has  no  alternative  but  to  break  the  silence,  and  tell  the  story 
as  best  he  may. 

“ I got  back  from  the  Continent  last  night,”  he  began.  ‘‘  And  I 
come  here,  as  I promised,  to  report  myself  on  my  return.  Plow 
does  your  ladyship  do?  How  is  Miss  Eoseberry?” 

Lady  Janet  laid  an  indicative  finger  on  the  lace  pelerine  which 
ornamented  the  upper  part  of  her  dress.  “Here  is  the  old  lady, 
well,”  she  answered — and  pointed  next  to  the  room  above  them. 
“ And  there,”  she  added,  “ is  the  young  lady,  ill.  Is  anything  the 
matter  with  you,  Julian?” 

“ Perhaps  I am  a little  tired  after  my  journey.  Never  mind  me. 
Is  Miss  Roseberry  still  suffering  from  the  shock?” 

“ What  else  stiould  she  be  suffering  from?  I will  nev^er  forgive 
you,  Julian,  for  bringing  that  crazy  impostor  into  my  house.” 

“ My  dear  aunt,  when  I was  the  innocent  means  of  bringing  her 
here  I had  no  idea  that  such  a person  as  Miss  Roseberry  was  In  ex- 
istence. Nobody  laments  what  has  happened  more  sincerely  than 
Ido.  Have  you  had  medical  advice?” 

“ I took  her  to  the  sea-side  a week  since  by  medical  advice.” 

“ Has  the  change  of  air  done  her  no  good?” 

“ None  whatever.  If  anything,  the  change  of  air  has  made  her 
worse.  Sometimes  she  sits  for  hours  together,  as  pale  as  death,  with- 
out looking  at  anything,  and  without  uttering  a word.  Sometimes 
she  brightens  up,  and  seems  as  if  she  was  eager  to  say  something; 
and  then.  Heaven  only  knows  why,  checks  herself  suddenly  as  if 
she  was  afraid  to  speak.  I could  support  that.  But  what  cuts  me 
to  the  heart,  Julian,  is,  that  she  does  not  appear  to  trust  me  and  to 
love  me  as  she  did  She  seems  to  be  doubtful  of  me;  she  seems'^to 
be  frightened  of  me.  If  I did  not  know  that  it  was  simply  impossible 
that  such  a thing  could  be,  I should  really  think  she  suspected  me  of 
believing  what  that  wretch  said  of  her.  In  one  word  (and  between 
ourselves),  I begin  to  fear  she  will  never  get  over  the  fright  which 
caused  that  fainting-fit.  There  is  serious  mischief  somewhere;  and 
try  as  I may  to  discover  it,  it  is  a mischief  beyond  my  finding.” 

“ Can  the  doctor  do  nothing?” 

Lady  Janet’s  bright  black  eyes  answered  before  she  replied  in 
words,  with  a look  of  supreme  contempt.  “ The  doctor  I”  she  re* 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


peated,  disdainfully.  1 brought  Grace  back  last  night  in  sheer 
despair,  and  1 sent  for  the  doctor  this  morning.  He  is  at  the  head 
of  his  profession;  he  is  said  to  be  making  ten  thousand  a year;  and 
he  kno  prs  no  more  about  it  than  I do.  I am  quite  serious.  The  great 
physician  has  just  gone  away  with  two  guineas  in  his  pocket.  One 
guinea  for  advising  me  to  keep  her  quiet;  another  guinea  for 
telling  me  to  trust  to  time.  Do  you  wonder  how  he  gets  on  at  this 
rate?  My  dear  boy,  they  all  get  on  the  same  way.  The  medical 
profession  thrives  on  two  incurable  diseases  in  these  modern  days-— 
a He-disease  and  a She- disease.  She-disease — nervous  depression; 
He- disease— suppressed  gout.  Remedies,  one  guinea  if  you  go  to  the 
doctor;  two  guineas  if  the  doctor  goes  io^you,  1 might  have  bought 
a new  bonnet,”  cried  her  ladyship,  indignantly,  ” with  the  money  I 
have  given  that  man!  Let  us  cliango  the  subject.  I lose  my 
temper  when  I think  of  it.  Besides,  I want  to  know  something. 
AV^hy  did  you  go  abroad?” 

At  that  plain  question  Julian  looked  unaffectedly  surprised.  ''  I 
wrote  to  explain,”  he^aid.  ‘‘  Have  you  not  received  my  letter?” 

“ Oh,  I got  your  letter.  It  was  long  enough,  in  all  conscience-, 
and,  long  as  it  was,  it  didn’t  tell  me  the  one  thing  I wanted  to 
know.” 

” What  is  the  ' one  thing?’  ” 

Lady  Janet’s  reply  pointed— not  too  palpably  at  first — at  that 
second  motive  for  Julian’s  journey  which  she  had  suspected  Julian 
of  concealing  from  her. 

”1  want  !o  know,”  she  said,  why  you  troubled  yourself  to 
make  inquiries  on  the  Continent  in  person?  You  know  where  my 
old  courier  is  to  be  found.  You  have  yourself  pronounced  him  to  be 
the  most  intelligent  and  trustworthy  of  men.  Answer  me  honestly, 
could  you  not  have  sent  him  in  your  place?” 

” I might  have  sent  him,”  Julian  admitted,  a little  reluctantlj^ 

''  You  might  have  sent  the  courier — and  you  were  under  an  eu^ 
gagement  to  stay  here  as  my  guest.  Answer  me  honestly  once 
more.  Why  did  you  go  away?” 

Julian  hesitated.  Lady  Janet  paused  for  his  reply,  with  the  air 
of  a woman  who  was  prepared  to  wait  (if  necessary)  for  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon. 

” I had  a reason  of  my  own  for  going,”  Julian  said  at  last. 

''Yes?”  rejoined  Lady  Janet,  prepared  to  wait  (if  necessar}^)  till 
the  next  morning. 

" A reason,”  Julian  resumed,  “which  I would  rather  not  men 
lion/’ 


• THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


89 


'*  Oh!”  eakl  Lady  Janet.  “ Another  mystery — eh?  And  another 
woman  at  the  bottom  of  it,  no  doubt.  Thank  you — that  will  do— -I 
am  sufficiently  answered.  No  wonder,  as  a clergyman,  that  you 
look  a little  confused.  There  is  perhaps  a certain  grace,  under  the 
circumstances,  in  looking  confused.  We  will  change  the  subject 
again.  You  stay  here,  of  course,  now  you  have  come  back?” 

Once  more  the  famous  pulpit  orator  seemed  to  find  himself  in  the 
inconceivable  predicament  of  not  knowing  what  to  say.  Once  more 
Lady  Janet  looked  resigned  to  wait  (if  necessary)  until  the  middle 
of  next  week. 

Julian  took  refuge  in  an  answer  worthy  of  the  most  common- 
place man  on  the  face  of  the  civilized  earth. 

” I beg  your  ladyship  to  accept  my  thanks  and  my  excuses,”  he 
said. 

Lady  Janet’s  many-ringed  fingers  mechanically  stroking  the  cat 
in  her  lap,  began  to  stroke  him  the  wrong  way.  Lady  Janet's  inex- 
haustible patience  showed  signs  of  failing  her  at  last. 

“ Mighty  civil,  I am  sure,”  she  said.  “ Make  it  complete.  Say, 
Mr.  Julian  Gray  presents  his  compliments  to  Lady  Janet  Hoy,  and 
regrets  that  a previous  engagement — Julian!”  exclaimed  the  old 
lady,  suddenly  pushing  the  cat  off  her  lap,  and  flinging  her  last  pre- 
tense of  good  temper  to  the  winds — Julian,  I am  not  to  be  trifled 
with!  There  is  but  one  explanation  of  your  conduct — you  are  evi- 
dently avoiding  my  house.  Is  there  somebody  you  dislike  in  it? 
it  me?” 

Julian  intimated  by  a gesture  that  his  aunt’s  last  question  was 
absurd.  (The  much-injured  cat  elevated  his  back,  waved  his  tail 
slowly,  walked  to  the  fire-place,  and  honored  the  rug  by  taking  a 
seat  on  it.) 

Lady  Janet  persisted.  ‘‘  Is  it  Grace  Roseberry  ?”  she  asked  next. 

Even  Julian’s  patience  began  to  show  signs  of  yielding.  His 
manner  assumed  a sudden  decision,  his  voice  rose  a tone  louder. 

” You  insist  on  knowing?”  he  said.  It  is  Miss  Roseberry.” 

“You  don’t  like  her?”  cried  Lady  Janet,  with  a sudden  burst  of 
angry  surprise. 

Julian  broke  out,  on  his  side;  “If  I see  any  more  of  her,”  he 
answered,  the  rare  color  mounting  in  his  cheeks,  “ I shall  be  the 
unhappiest  man  living.  If  I see  any  more  of  her,  I shall  be  false 
to  my  old  friend,  who  is  to  marry  her.  Keep  us  apart,  li  you 
have  any  regard  for  my  peace  of  mind,  keep  us  apart.” 

Unutterable  amazement  expressed  itself  in  his  aunt’s  lifted  hands. 
Ungovernable  curiosity  utt^.,rcd  itself  in  his  aunt’s  next  words 


90 


THE  KEVV  MAGHALEJT. 


*’  You  don’t  moan  to  tell  me  you  are  in  love  with  Grace?  ’ 

Julian  sprang  restlessly  to  his  feet,  and  disturbed  the  cat  at  the 
fireplace.  (The  cat  left  the  room.)  “ 1 don’t  know  what  to  tell  you,” 
he  said;  “1  can’t  realize  it  to  myself.  No  other  woman  has  ever 
roused  the  feeling  in  me  which  this  woman  seems  to  have  called  to 
life  in  an  instant.  In  the  hope  of  forgetting  her  I broke  my  engage- 
ment here;  I purposely  seized  the  opportunity  of  making  those 
inquiries  abroad.  Quite  useless.  I think  of  her  morning,  noon, 
and  night.  I see  her  and  hear  her,  at  this  moment,  as  plainly  as 
1 see  and  hear  you.  She  has  made  herself  a part  of  myself. 
1 don’t  understand  my  life  without  her.  My  power  of  will 
seems  to  be  gone.  1 said  to  myself  this  morning,  ‘ I will  write 
to  my  aunt;  I won’t  go  back  to  Mablethorpe  House!’  Here  I am  in 
Mablethorpe  House,  with  a mean  subterfuge  to  Justify  me  to  my 
own  conscience.  ‘I  owe  it  to  my  aunt  to  call  on  my  aunt.’  That 
is  what  I said  to  myself  on  the  way  here;  and  1 was  secretly  hoping 
every  step  of  the  way  that  she  would  come  into  the  room  when 
I got  here.  I am  hoping  it  now.  And  she  is  engaged  to  Horace 
Holmcroft — to  my  oldest  friend,  to  my  best  friend!  Am  I an  infer- 
nal rascal?  or  am  I a weak  fool?  God  knows — I don't.  Keep  my 
secret,  aunt.  I am  heartily  ashamed  of  myself;  I used  to  think  1 
was  made  of  better  stuff  than  this.  Don’t  sa,y  a word  to  Horace. 
I must,  and  will,  conquer  it.  Let  me  go.” 

He  snatched  up  his  hat.  Lady  Janet,  rising  with  the  activity  of  a 
young  woman,  pursued  him  across  the  room,  and  stopped  him  at 
the  door.  ” No,”  answered  the  resolute  old  lady,  ” I won’t  let  you 
go.  Come  back  with  me.” 

As  she  said  those  words,  she  noticed  with  a certain  fond  pride 
the  brilliant  color  mounting  in  his  cheeks — the  flashing  brightness 
which  lent  an  added  luster  to  his  eyes.  He  had  never,  to  her 
mind,  looked  so  handsome  before.  She  took  his  arm,  and  led  him 
to  the  chairs  which  they  had  just  left.  It  was  shocking,  it  was 
wrong  (she  mentally  admitted),  to  look  on  Mercy,  under  the  circum- 
stances, with  any  other  eye  than  the  eye  of  a brother  or  a friend.  In 
a clergyman  (perhaps)  doubly  shocking,  doubly  wrong.  But,  with 
all  her  respect  for  the  vested  interests  of  Horace,  Lady  Janet  could 
not  blame  Julian.  Worse  still,  she  was  privately  conscious  that  he 
had,  somehow  or  other,  risen,  rather  than  fallen,  in  her  estimation 
within  the  last  minute  or  two.  Who  could  deny  that  her  adopted 
daughter  was  a charming  creature?  Who  could  wonder  if  a man 
of  refined  tastes  admired  her?  Upon  the  wfliole,  her  lady-ship  hu- 
manely dccihed  that  her  nephew  was  rather  to  be  pitied  than 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


91 


blamed.  What  daughter  of  Eve  (no  matter  whether  she  was  seven 
teen  or  seventy)  could  have  honestly  arrived  at  any  other  conclu> 
sion?  Do  what  a man  may — let  him  commit  anything  he  likes, 
from  an  error  to  a crime— so  long  as  there  is  a woman  at  the  bottom 
of  it,  there  is  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  pardon  for  him  in  ever}^  other 
woman’s  heart.  “ Sit  down,”  said  Lady  Janet,  smiling  in  spite  of 
herself;  “ and  don’t  talk  in  that  horrible  way  again.  A man,  Julian 
— especially  a famous  man  like  you— ought  to  know  how  to  control 
himself.” 

Julian  burst  out  laughing  bitterly.  ‘‘  Send  up  stairs  for  my  selL 
control,”  he  said.  “It’s  In  her  possession — not  in  mine.  Good- 
morning, aunt.” 

He  rose  from  his  chair.  Lady  Janet  instantly  pushed  him  back 
into  it. 

“ 1 insist  on  your  staying  here,”  she  said,  “ if  it  is  only  for  a few 
minutes  longer.  1 have  something  to  say  to  you.” 

“ Does  it  refer  to  MissRoseberry?” 

“ It  refers  to  the  hateful  woman  who  frightened  Miss  Roseberry. 
Kow  are  you  satisfied?”  Julian  bowed,  and  settled  himself  in  his 
chair. 

“I  don’t  much  like  to  acknowledge  it,”  his  aunt  went  on. 
“ But  1 want  you  to  understand  that  1 have  something  really  serious 
to  speak  about,  for  once  in  away.  Julian!  that  wretch  not  only 
frightens  Grace— she  actually  frightens  me.” 

“ Frightens  you?  She  is  quite  harmless,  poor  thing!” 

“Poor  thing!”  repeated  Lady  Janet.  “Did  you  say  * poor 
thing?’  ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Is  it  possible  that  you  pity  her?” 

“ From  the  bottom  of  my  heart.” 

The  old  lady’s  temper  gave  way  again  at  that  reply.  “ 1 hate  a 
man  who  can’t  hate  anybody!”  she  burst  out.  “ If  you  had  been 
an  ancient  Roman,  Julian,  I believe  you  would  have  pitied  Nero 
himself.” 

Julian  cordially  agreed  with  her.  “ I believe  I should,”  he  said, 
quietly.  “All  sinners,  my  dear  aunt,  are  more  or  less  miserable 
sinners.  Nero  must  have  been  one  of  the  wretchedest  of  mankind.” 

“ Wretched!”  exclaimed  Lady  Janet.  “ Nero  wretched!  A man 
who  committed  robbery,  arson,  and  murder  to  his  own  violin  ac- 
companiment — only  wretched!  What  next,  I wonder?  Whe? 
modern  philanthropy  begins  to  apologize  for  Nero,  modern  philan 
IhBopy  has  arrived  at  a pretty  pass  indeed!  We  shall  hear  next  that 


92 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


Bloody  Queen  Mary  was  as  playful  as  a kitten;  and  if  poor  dear 
Henry  the  Eighth  carried  anything  to  an  extreme,  it  was  the  prac- 
tice of  the  domestic  virtues.  Ah,  how  1 hate  cant!  What  were 
we  talking  about  just  now?  You  wander  from  the  subject,  Julian; 
3^ou  are  what  I call  bird-witted.  I protest  I forget  what  1 wanted 
to  say  to  you.  No,  I won’t  be  reminded  of  it.  I may  be  an  old 
woman,  but  I am  not  in  my  dotage  yet!  Why  do  you  sit  there 
staring?  Have  you  nothing  to  say  for  yourself?  Of  all  the  people 
in  the  world,  have  you  lost  the  use  of  your  tongue?’* 

Julian’s  excellent  temper  and  accurate  knowledge  of  his  aunt’s 
character  exactly  fitted  him  to  calm  the  rising  storm.  He  contrived 
to  lead  Lady  Janet  insensibly  back  to  the  lost  subject  by  dexterous 
reference  to  a narrative  which  he  had  thus  far  left  untold — the 
narrative  of  his  adventures  on  the  Continent.  “ 1 have  a great  deal 
to  say,  aunt,”  he  replied.  ” I have  not  yet  told  you  of  mf  discov- 
eries abroad.” 

Lady  Janet  instantly  took  the  bait. 

‘‘1  knew  there  was  something  forgotten,”  she  said.  “ "You  have 
been  all  this  time  in  the  house,  and  you  have  told  me  nothing.  Be- 
gin directly.  ” Patient  Julian  began. 

CHAPTER  XI Y. 

COMING  EVENTS  CAST  THEIR  SHADOWS  BEFORE. 

“ I WENT  first  to  Mannheim,  Lawly  Janet,  as  1 told  you  1 should 
in  my  letter,  and  1 heard  all  that  the  consul  and  the  hospital  doc- 
tors could  tell  me.  No  new  fact  of  the  slightest  importance  turned 
up.  I got  my  directions  for  finding  the  German  surgeon,  and  I set 
forth  to  try  what  I could  make  next  of  the  man  who  had  performed 
the  operation.  On  the  question  of  his  patient’s  identity  he  had  (as 
a perfect  stranger  to  her)  nothing  to  tell  me.  On  the  question  of 
her  mental  condition,  however,  he  made  a very  important  statement. 
He  owned  to  me  that  he  had  operated  on  another  person  injured  by 
a shell- wound  on  the  head  at  the  battle  of  Solferino,  and  that  the 
patient  (recovering  also  in  this  case)  recovered— mad.  That  is  a 
remarkable  admission;  don’t  you  think  so?” 

Lady  Janet’s  temper  had  hardly  been  allowed  time  enough  to 
subside  to  its  customary  level.  “Very  remarkable,  I dare  say,” 
she  answered,  to  people  who  feel  any  doubt  of  this  pitiable  lady 
of  yours  being  mad.  1 feel  no  doubt— and  thus  far,  I find  your  ac- 
count of  yourself,  Julian,  tiresome  in  the  extreme.  Get  on  to  the 
end.  Did  you  lay  your  hand  on  Mercy  Merrick?’' 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


93 


“No.’’ 

“ Did  you  bear  anything  of  her?” 

“Nothing.  Difficulties  beset  me  on  every  side.  The  French 
ambulance  had  shared  in  the  disasters  of  France — it  was  broken  up. 
The  wounded  Frenchmen  were  prisoners  somewhere  in  Germany, 
nobod}^  knew  where.  The  French  surgeon  had  been  killed  in  action. 
His  assistants  were  scattered — most  likely  in  hiding.  1 began  to 
despair  of  making  any  discovery,  when  accident  threw  in  my  way 
two  Prussian  soldiers  who  had  been  in  the  French  cottage.  They 
confirmed  what  the  German  surgeon  told  the  consul,  and  what 
Horace  himself  told  me,  namely,  that  no  nurse  in  a black  dress  was 
to  be  seen  in  the  place.  If  there  had  been  such  a person,  she  would 
certainly  (the  Prussians  informed  me)  have  been  found  in  attendance 
on  the  injured  Frenchmen.  The  cross  of  the  Geneva  Convention 
would  have  been  amply  sufficient  to  protect  her;  no  woman  v;eanng 
that  badge  of  honor  would  have  disgraced  herself  by  abandoning  the 
wounded  men  before  the  Germans  entered  the  place.’’ 

“ In  short,”  interrupted  Lady  Janet,  “ there  is  no  such  person  as 
Mercy  Merrick.” 

“ I can  draw  no  other  conclusion,”  said  Julian,  “ unless  the  En- 
glish doctor’s  idea  is  the  right  one.  After  hearing  what  T have  just 
told  you,  be  thinks  the  woman  herself  is  Mercy  Merrick.”  Lady 
Janet  held  up  her  hand  as  a sign  that  she  had  an  objection  to  make 
here. 

“You  and  the  doctor  seem  to  have  settled  everything  to  your  en- 
tire satisfaction  on  both  sides,”  she  said.  “ But  there  is  one  diffi- 
culty that  you  have  neither  of  you  accounted  for  yet.” 

“ What  is  it,  aunt?” 

“ You  talk  gdbly  enough,  Julian,  about  this  woman’s  mad  asser- 
tion that  Grace  is  the  missing  nurse,  and  that  she  is  Grace.  But 
you  have  not  explained  yet  how  the  idea  first  got  into  her  head;  and, 
more  than  that,  how  it  is  that  she  is  acquainted  with  my  name  and 
address,  and  perfectly  familiar  with  Grace’s  papers  and  Grace’s 
allairs.  These  things  are  a puzzle  to  a person  of  my  average  intelli- 
gence. Can  your  clever  friend,  the  doctor,  account  for  them?” 

“ Shall  I tell  you  what  he  said  when  I saw  him  this  morning?” 

“ Will  it  take  long?” 

“ It  will  take  about. a minute.” 

“ You  agreeably  surprise  me.  Go  on.” 

“ You  want  to  know  how  she  gained  her  knowledge  of  your  name 
and  of  Miss  Koseberry’s  affairs,”  Julian  resumed.  “ The  doctor 
says  in  one  of  two  ways.  Either  Miss  Boseberry  must  have  spoken 


94 


CHE  NEW  MAGDALEN, 


of  you  and  of  her  own  affairs  while  she  and  the  stranger  were  to- 
gether in  the  French  cottage,  or  the  stranger  must  have  obtained 
access  privately  to  Miss  Koseberry’s  papers.  Do  you  agree  so  far?” 
Lady  Janet  began  to  feel  interested  for  the  first  time. 

Perfectly,”  she  said.  “ I have  no  doubt  Grace  rashly  talked  of 
matters  which  an  older  and  wiser  person  would  have  kept  to  her- 
self.” 

Very  good.  Do  you  also  agree  that  the  last  idea  in  the  woman’s 
mind  when  she  was  struck  by  the  shell  might  have  been  (quite 
probably)  the  idea  of  Miss  Roseberry’s  identity  and  Miss  Roseberry’s 
affairs?  You  think  it  likely  enough ? Well,  what  happens  after 
that?  The  wounded  woman  is  brought  to  life  by  an  operation,  and 
she  becomes  delirious  in  the  hospital  at  Mannheim.  During  her 
delirium  the  idea  of  Miss  Roseberry's  identity  ferments  in  her  brain, 
and  assumes  its  present  perverted  form.  In  that  form  it  still  re- 
mains. As  a necessary  consequence,  she  persists  in  reversing  the 
t wo  identities.  She  says  she  is  Miss  Roseberry,  and  declares  Miss 
Roseberry  to  be  Mercy  Merrick.  There  is  the  doctor’s  explanation. 
What  do  you  think  of  it?” 

Very  ingenious,  I dare  say.  The  doctor  doesn’t  quite  satisfy 
me,  however,  for  all  that.  1 think — ’' 

What  Lady  Janet  thought  was  not  destined  to  be  expressed.  She 
surldenly  checked  herself,  and  held  up  her  hand  for  the  second 
time. 

“ Another  objection?’'  inquired  Julian. 

“ Hold  your  tongue!”  cried  the  old  lady.  “ If  you  say  a word 
more,  I shall  lose  it  again.” 

Lose  what,  aunt?” 

‘‘What  I wanted  to  say  to  you  ages  ago.  I have  got  it  back 
again— it  begins  with  a question.  (No  more  of  the  doctor — I have 
had  enough  of  him!)  Where  is  fi\\Q—your  pitiable  lady,  my  crazy 
wretch.  Where  is  she  now?  Still  in  London?” 

“Yes.” 

“ And  still  at  large?” 

“ Still  with  the  landlady,  at  her  lodgings.” 

“Very  well.  Now  answer  me  this:  What  is  to  prevent  her 
from  making  another  attempt  to  force  her  way  (or  steal  her  way) 
into  my  house?  How  am  I to  protect  Grace,  how  am  I to  protect 
myself,  if  she  comes  here  again?” 

“ Is  that  really  what  you  wished  to  speak  to  me  about?” 

“ That,  and  nothing  else.” 

They  were  both  too  deeply  interested  in  the  subject  of  their  con* 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


95 


versation  to  look  toward  the  conservatory,  and  to  notice  the  appear 
ance  at  that  moment  of  a distant  gentleman  among  the  plants  and 
liowers,  who  had  made  his  way  in  from  the  garden  outside.  Ad- 
vancing noiselessly  on  the  soft  Indian  matting,  the  gentleman  ere 
long  revealed  himself  under  the  form  and  features  of  Horace  Holm- 
croft.  Before  entering  the  dining-room  he  paused,  fixing  his  ej'es 
inquisitively  on  the  back  of  Lady  Janet’s  visitor — the  back  being 
all  that‘he  could  see  in  the  position  he  then  occupied.  After  a pause 
of  an  instant,  the  visitor  spoke,  and  further  uncertainly  was  at  once 
at  an  end.  Horace,  nevertheless,  made  no  movement  to  enter  the 
room.  He  had  his  own  jealou^  distrust  of  what  Julian  might  be 
tempted  to  say  at  a private  interview  with  his  aunt;  and  he  waited 
a little  longer  on  the  chance  that  his  doubts  might  be  verified. 

“ Neither  you  nor  Miss  Roseberry  need  any  protection  from  the 
poor  deluded  creature,”  Julian  went  on.  ‘'I  have  gained  great 
infiuence  over  her— and  I have  satisfied  her  that  it  is  useless  to  pre- 
sent herself  here  again.” 

I beg  your  pardon,”  interposed  Horace,  speaking  from  the  con- 
servatory door.  ‘‘You  have  done  nothing  of  the  sort.” 

(He  had  heard  enough  to  satisfy  him  that  the  talk  was  not  taking 
the  direction  which  his  suspicions  had  anticipated.  And,  as  an  ad- 
ditional incentive  to  show  himself  a happy  chance  had  now  offered 
him  the  opportunity  of  putting  Julian  in  the  wrong.) 

” Good  Heavens,  Horace  1”  exclaimed  Lady  Janet.  “ Where  do 
you  come  from?  And  what  do  you  mean?” 

“ I heard  at  the  lodge  that  your  ladyship  and  Grace  had  returned 
last  night.  And  I came  in  at  once,  without  troubling  the  servants, 
by  the  shortest  way.”  He  turned  to  Julian  next.  ‘‘The  woman 
you  were  speaking  of  just  now,”  he  proceeded,  “has  been  here 
again  already — in  Lady  Janet’s  absence.”  Lady  Janet  immediately 
looked  at  her  nephew.  Julian  reassured  her  by  a gesture. 

“ Impossible,”  he  said.  ” There  must  be  some  mistake.” 

“ There  is  no  mistake,”  Horace  rejoined.  ‘‘lam  repeating  what 
I have  just  heard  from  the  lodge- keeper  himself.  He  hesitated  to 
mention  it  to  Lady  Janet  for  fear  of  alarming  her.  Only  three  days 
since  this  person  had  the  audacity  to  ask  him  for  her  ladyship’s  ad- 
dress at  the  sea-side.  Of  course  he  refused  to  give  it.” 

“You  hear  that,  Julian?”  said  Lady  Janet. 

No  signs  of  anger  or  mortification  escaped  Julian.  The  expres- 
sion in  his  face  at  that  moment  was  an  expression  of  sincere  dis- 
tress. 

“ Pray  don’t  alarm  yourself,”  he  said  to  his  aunt,  in  his  quietest 


96 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


tones.  “ If  she  attempts  to  annoy  you  or  Miss  Roseberry  again.  I 
have  it  in  my  power  to  stop  her  instantly.’’ 

''  How?”  asked  Lady  Jan^t. 

” How,  indeed!”  echoed  Horace.  If  we  give  her  in  charge  to 
the  police,  we  shall  become  the  subject  of  a public  scandal.” 

'*1  have  managed  to  avoid  all  danger  of  scandal,”  Julian  an- 
swered; the  expression  of  distress  in  his  face  becoming  more  and 
more  marked  wliile  he  spoke.  Before  I called  here  to-day  I had 
a private  consultation  with  the  magistrate  of  the  district,  and  I have 
made  certain  arrangements  at  the  police  station  close  by.  On  receipt 
of  my  card,  an  experienced  man,  in  plain  clothes,  will  present  him- 
self at  any  address  that  I indicate,  and  will  take  her  quietly  away. 
The  magistrate  will  hear  the  charge  in  his  private  room,  and  will  ex- 
amine the  evidence  which  I can  produce,  showing  that  she  is  not 
accountable  for  her  actions.  The  proper  medical  officer  will  report 
officially  on  the  case,  and  the  law  will  place  her  under  the  necessary 
restraint.” 

Lady  Janet  and  Horace  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement. 
Julian  was,  in  their  opinion,  the  last  man  on  earth  to  take  the 
course — at  once  sensible  and  severe— which  Julian  had  actually 
adopted.  Lady  Janet  insisted  on  an  explanation. 

” "Why  do  I hear  of  this  now  for  the  first  time?”  she  asked. 
” Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you  had  taken  these  precautions  be- 
fore?” 

Julian  answered  frankly  and  sadly. 

” Because  1 hoped,  aunt,  that  there  would  be  no  necessity  for  pro- 
ceeding to  extremities.  You  now  force  me  to  acknowldge  that  the 
lawyer  and  the  doctor  (both  of  whom  I have  seen  this  morning) 
think,  as  you  do,  that  she  is  not  to  be  trusted.  It  was  at  their 
suggestion  entirely  that  I went  to  the  magistrate.  They  put  it  to 
me  whether  the  result  of  my  inquiries  abroad — unsatisfactory  as  it 
may  have  been  in  other  respects — did  not  strengthen  the  conclusion 
that  the  poor  woman’s  mind  is  deranged.  I felt  compelled  in  com- 
mon honesty  to  admit  it  was  so.  Having  owned  this,  I was  bound 
to  take  such  precautions  as  the  lawyer  and  the  doctor  thought 
necessary.  I have  done  my  duty— sorely  against  my  own  will. 
It  is  weak  of  me,  I dare  say;  but  I can  not  bear  the  thought 
of  treating  this  affiicted  creature  harsh ly.‘  Her  delusion  is 
so  hopeless!  her  situ^jjtion  is  suc^ a pitiable  one!”  His  voice  fal- 
tered. He  turned  away  abruptly  and  took  up  his  hat.  Lady  Janet 
followed  him,  and  spoke  to  him  at  the  door.  Horace  smiled  satir- 
ically, and  went  to  warm  himself  at  the  fire. 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


91 


Are  you  going  away,  Julian?” 

“ I am  only  going  to  the  lodge-keeper.  I want  to  give  him  a 
word  of  warning  in  case  of  his  seeing  her  again.” 

'‘You  will  come  back  here?”  (Lady  Janet  lowered  her  voice  to 
a whisper.)  There  is  really  a reason,  Julian,  for  your  not  leaving 
the  house  now.” 

“ I promise  not  to  go  away,  aunt,  until  I have  provided  for  your 
security.  If  you,  or  your  adopted  daughter,  are  alarmed  by  another 
intrusion,  I give  you  my  word  of  honor  my  card  shall  go  to  the 
police  station,  however  painfully  1 may  feel  it  myself.”  (He,  too, 
lowered  his  voice  at  the  next  words.)  " In  the  mean  time,  remember 
what  I confessed  to  you  while  we  were  alone.  For  my  sake,  let  me 
see  as  little  of  Miss  lioseberry  as  possible.  Shall  I find  you  in  this 
room  when  I come  back?” 

"Yes.” 

" Alone?” 

He  laid  a strong  emphasis  of  look  as  well  as  of  tone,  on  that  one 
word.  Lady  Janet  understood  what  the  emphasis  meant. 

" Are  you  really,”  she  whispered,  " as  much  in  love  with  Grace 
as  that?” 

Julian  laid  one  hand  on  his  aunt’s  arm,  and  pointed  with  the 
other  to  Horace— standing  with  his  back  to  them,  warming  his  feet 
on  the  fender. 

'vWell?”  said  Lady  Janet. 

" Well,”  said  Julian,  with  a smile  on  his  lip  and  a tear  in  his  eye, 
•'  1 never  envied  any  man  as  I envy  him!''  'With  those  words  he 
left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A woman’s  REMORSE. 

Having  warmed  his  feet  to  his  own  entire  satisfaction,  Horace 
turned  round  from  the  fire-place  and  discovered  that  he  and  Lady 
Janet  were  alone. 

" Can  1 see  Grace?”  he  asked. 

The  easy  tone  in  which  he  put  the  question— a tone,  as  it  were,  of 
proprietorship  in  " Grace  ” — jarred  on  Lady  Janet  at  the  moment. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  found  herself  comparing  Horace 
with  Julian — to  Horace’s  disadvantage.  He  'was  rich;  he  was  a 
gentleman  of  ancient  lineage ; he  bore  an  unblemished  character. 
But  who  had  the  strong  brain?  who  had  the  great  heart?  Which 
was  the  Man  of  the  two? 

4 


98 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


^‘Nobody  can  see  her/’  answered  Lady  Janet,  even 

you!*' 

The  tone  of  the  reply  w^as  sharp,  with  a dash  of  irony  in  it.  But 
where  is  the  modern  young  man,  possessed  of  health  and  an  inde- 
pendent income,  who  is  capable  of  understanding  that  irony  can  be 
presumptuous  enough  to  address  itself  to  him  I Horace  (with  per- 
fect politeness)  declined  to  consider  himself  answered. 

“ Does  your  ladyship  mean  that  Miss'  Boseberry  is  in  bed?’*  he 
asked. 

“ I mean  that  Miss  Boseberry  is  in  her  room.  I mean  that  1 have 
twice  tried  to  persuade  Miss  Boseberry  to  dress  and  come  down 
stairs,  and  tried  in  vain.  I mean  that  what  Miss  Boseberry  refuses 
to  do  for  Me,  she  is  not  likely  to  do  for  You — " How  many 
more  meanings  of  her  own  Lady  Janet  might  have  gone  on  enumer- 
ating, it  is  not  easy  to  calculate.  At  her  third  sentence  a sound  in 
the  library  caught  her  ear  through  the  incompletely  closed  door,  and 
suspended  the  next  words  on  her  lips.  Horace  heard  it  also.  It 
was  the  rustling  sound  (traveling  nearer  and  nearer  over  the  library 
carpet)  of  a silken  dress.  (In  the  interval  while  a coming  event  re- 
mains in  a state  of  uncertainty,  what  is  the  inevitable  tendency  of 
every  Englishman  under  thirty  to  do?  His  inevitable  tendency  is 
to  ask  somebody  to  bet  on  the  event.  He  can  no  more  resist  it  than 
he  can  resist  lifting  his  stick  or  his  umbrella,  in  the  absence  of  a 
gun,  and  pretending  to  shoot  if  a bird  flies  by  him,  while  he  is  out 
for  a walk.) 

‘‘  What  will  your  ladyship  bet  that  this  is  not  Grace?**  cried  Hor- 
ace. 

Her  lady  ship,  to  ok  no  notice  of  the  proposal;  her  attention  re- 
mained fixed  on  the  library  door.  The  rustling  sound  stopped  for 
a moment.  The  door  was  softly  pushed  open.  The  false  Grace 
Boseberry  entered  the  room.  Horace  advanced  to  meet  her,  opened 
his  lips  to  speak,  and  stopped— struck  dumb  by  the  change  in 
his  affianced  wife  since  he  had  seen  her  last.  Some  terrible  oppres- 
sion seemed  to  have  crushed  her.  It  was  as  if  she  had  actually 
shrunk  in  height  as  well  as  substance.  She  walked  more  slowly 
than  usual ; she  spoke  more  rarely  than  usual,  and  in  a lower  tone. 
To  those  who  had  seen  her  before  the  fatal  visit  of  the  stranger  from 
Mannheim,  it  was  the  wreck  of  the  woman  that  now  appeared,  in- 
stead of  the  woman  herself.  And  yet  there  was  the  old  charm  still 
surviving  through  it  all ; the  grandeur  of  the  head  and  eyes,  the 
delicate  symmetry  of  the  features,  the  unsought  grace  of  every 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEK. 


99 


movement— in  a word,  the  unconquerable  beauty  which  suffering 
eannot  destroy,  and  which  time  itself  is  powerless  to  wear  out. 

Lady  Janet  advanced,  and  took  her  with  hearty  kindness  by  both 
hands. 

My  dear  child,  welcome  among  us  again!  You  hare  come  down 
stairs  to  please  me?” 

She  bent  her  head  in  silent  acknowledgment  that  it  was  so.  Lady 
Janet  pointed  to  Horace;  “ Here  is  somebody  who  has  been  longing 
to  see  you,  Grace.” 

She  never  looked  up;  she  stood  submissive,  her  eyes  fixed  on  a 
little  basket  of  colored  wools  which  hung  on  her  arm.  “Thank 
you.  Lady  Janet,”  she  said,  faintly.  “ Thank  you,  Horace.” 

Horace  placed  her  arm  in  his  and  led  her  to  the  sofa.  She  shiv- 
ered as  she  took  her  seat,  and  looked  round  her.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  seen  the  dining-room  since  the  day  when  she  had  found 
herself  face  to  face  with  the  dead-alive. 

“ Why  do  you  come  here,  my  love?”  asked  Lady  Janet.  “ The 
drawing-room  would  have  been  a warmer  and  pleasanter  place  for 
you.” 

“ I saw  a carriage  at  the  front-door.  1 was  afraid  of  meeting  with 
visitors  in  the  drawing-room.” 

As  she  made  that  reply,  the  servant  came  in,  and  announced  the 
visitors’  names.  Lady  Janet  sighed  wearily.  “ 1 must  go  and  get 
rid  of  them,”  she' said,  resigning  herself  to  circumstances.  “ What 
will  you  do,  Grace?” 

“ I will  stay  here,  if  you  please.” 

“ I will  keep  her  company,”  added  Horace. 

Lady  Janet  hesitated.  She  had  promised  to  see  her  nephew  in  the 
dining-room  on  his  return  to  the  house— and,  to  see  him  alone. 
Would  there  be  time  enough  to  get  rid  of  the  visitors  and  to  estab- 
lish her  adopted  daughter  in  the  empty  drawing-room  before  Julian 
appeared?  It  was  ten  minutes’  walk  to  the  lodge,  and  he  had  to 
make  the  gatekeeper  understand  his  instructions.  Lady  Janet  de- 
cided that  she  had  time  enough  at  her  disposal.  She  nodded  kindly 
to  Mercy,  and  left  her  alone  with  her  lover. 

Horace  seated  himself  in  the  vacant  place  on  the  sofa.  So  far  as 
it  was  in  his  nature  to  devote  himseif  to  any  one  he  was  devoted  to 
Mercy.  “ 1 am  grieved  to  see  how  you  have  suffered,”  he  said, 
with  honest  distress  in  his  face  as  he  looked  at  her.  “ Try  to  for- 
get what  has  happened.” 

“ I am  trying  to  forget.  Do  you  think  of  it  much?” 

“ My  darling,  it  is  too  contemptible  to  be  thought  of  ” 


100 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


She  placed  her  work  basket  on  her  lap.  Her  wasted  fingers 
began  absently  sorting  the  wools  inside.  “ Have  you  seen  Mr. 
Julian  Gray?”  she  said,  suddenly. 

“Yes.” 

“What  does  he  say  about  it?”  She  looked  at  Horace,  for  the  first 
time  steadily  scrutinizing  his  face.  Horace  took  refuge  in  prevari- 
cation. 

“ I really  haven’t  asked  for  Julian’s  opinion,”  he  said. 

She  looked  down  again,  with  a sigh,  at  the  basket  on  her  lap — 
considered  a little  - and  tried  him  once  more. 

“ Why  has  Mr.  Julian  Gray  not  been  here  for  a whole  week?” 
she  went  on.  “ The  servants  say  he  has  been  abroad.  Is  that 
true?”  It  was  useless  to  deny  it.  Horace  admitted  that  the  serv- 
ants were  right.  Her  fingers  suddenly  stopped  at  their  restless 
work  among  the  wools;  her  breath  quickened  perceptibly.  What 
had  Julian  Gray  been  doing  abroad?  Had  he  been  making  in- 
quiries? Did  he  alone,  of  all  the  people  who  saw  that  terrible  meet- 
ing, suspect  her?  Yes!  His  was  the  finer  intelligence;  his  was  a 
clergyman’s  (a  London  clergyman’s)  experience  of  frauds  and  de- 
ceptions, and  of  the  women  who  were  guilty  of  them.  Not  a doubt 
of  it  now!  Julian  suspected  her. 

“ When  does  he  come  back?”  she  asked,  in  tones  so  low  that 
Horace  could  barely  hear  her. 

“ He  has  come  back  already.  He  returned  last  night.” 

A faint  shade  of  color  stole  slowly  over  the  pallor  of  her  face. 
She  suddenly  put  her  basket  away,  and  clasped  her  hands  together 
to  quiet  the  trembling  of  them,  before  she  asked  her  next  question. 

“ Where  is ” she  paused  to  steady  her  voice.  “ Where  is 

the  person,”  she  resumed,  “ who  came  here  and  frightened  me?” 

Horace  hastened  to  reassure  her.  “ The  person  will  not  come 
again,”  he  said.  “ Don’t  talk  of  her!  Don’t  think  of  her!” 

She  shook  her  head.  “ There  is  something  I want  to  know,”  she 
persisted.  “ How  did  Mr.  Julian  Gray  become  acquainted  with 
her?” 

This  was  easily  answered.  Horace  mentioned  the  consul  at  Mann- 
heim, and  the  letter  of  introduction.  She  listened  eagerly,  and  said 
her  next  words  in  a louder,  firmer  tone. 

“ She  was  quite  a stranger,  then,  to  Mr.  Julian  Gray — before 
that?” 

“ Quite  a stranger,”  Horace  replied.  “No  more  questions — not 
another  word  about  her,  Grace!  I forbid  the  subject.  Come,  my 
own  love!”  he  said,  taking  her  hand  and  bending  over  her  tenderly, 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN.  ' 101 

"rally  your  spirits!  We  a.ie  young— we  love  each  other — now  is 
our  time  to  be  happy 

Her  hand  turned  suddenly  cold,  and  trembled  in  his.  Her  head 
sank  with  a helpless  weariness  on  her  breast.  Horace  rose  in 
alarm. 

“You  are  cold— you  are  faint,”  he  said.  “Let  me  get  you  a 
glass  of  wine! — let  me  mend  the  fire!” 

The  decanters  were  still  on  the  luncheon-table.  Horace  insisted 
on  her  drinking  some  port  wine.  She  barely  took  half  the  contents 
of  the  wine-glass.  Even  that  little  told  on  her  sensitive  organiza- 
tion; it  roused  her  sinking  energies  of  body  and  mind.  After 
watching  her  anifiously,  without  attracting  her  notice,  Horace  left 
her  again  to  attend  to  the  fli'e  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Her 
eyes  followed  him  slowly  with  a hard  and  tearless  despair.  “ Kally 
your  spirits, ’’she  repeated  to  herself  in  a whisper.  “My  spirits! 
O God!”  She  looked  round  her  at  the  luxury  and  beauty  of  the 
room,  as  those  look  who  take  their  leave  of  familiar  scenes.  The 
moment  after,  her  eyes  sank,  and  rested  on  the  rich  dress  that  she 
wore— a gift  from  Lady  Janet.  She  thought  of  the  past;  she  thought 
of  the  future.  Was  the  time  near  when  she  would  be  back  again 
in  the  Refuge,  or  back  again  in  the  streets?— she  who  had  been 
Lady  Janet’s  adopted  daughter,  and  Horace  Holmcroft’s  betrothed 
wife!  A sudden  frenzy  of  recklessness  seized  on  her  as  she  thouirht 
of  the  coming  end.  Horace  was  right!  Why  not  rally  her  spirits? 
Why  not  make  the  most  of  her  time?  The  last  hours  of  her  life  in 
that  house  were  at  hand.  Why  not  enjoy  her  stolen  position  while 
she  could?  “ Adventuress!”  whispered  the  imtcking  spirit  within 
her,  “ be  true  to  your  character.  Aw^ay  with  remorse!  Remorse  is 
the  luxury  of  an  honest  woman.”  She  caught  up  her  basket  of 
wools,  inspired  by  a new  idea.  “ Ring  the  bell!”  she  cried  out  to 
Horace  at  the  fire-place. 

He  looked  round  in  wonder.  The  sound  of  her  voice  was  so  com- 
pletely altered  that  he  almost  fancied  there  must  have  been  another 
woman  in  the  room. 

“ Ring  the  bell!”  she  repeated.  “ I have  left  my  work  up  stairs. 
If  you  want  me  to  be  in  good  spirits,  1 must  have  my  work.” 

Still  looking  at  her,  Horace  put  his  hand  mechanically  to  the  bell 
and  rang.  One  of  the  men-eervants  came  in. 

“ Go  up  stairs  and  ask  my  maid  for  my  work,”  she  said,  sharply. 
Even  the  man  was  taken  by  surprise;  it  was  her  habit  to  speak  to 
the  servants  with  a gentleness  and  consideration  which  had  long 
since  won  all  theiy  hearts.  “Do  you  hear  me?”  she  asked  impa- 


102 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


tiently.  The  servant  bowed,  and  went  out  on  his  errand.  She 
turned  to  Horace  with  flashing  eyes  and  fevered  cheeks. 

“ What  a comfort  it  is,''  she  said,  “ to  belong  to  the  upper  classes) 
A poor  woman  has  no  maid  to  dress  her,  and  no  footman  to  send  up 
stairs.  Is  life  worth  having,  Horace,  on  less  than  five  thousand  a 
year?'' 

The  servant  returned  with  a strip  of  embroidery.  She  took  it 
with  an  insolent  grace,  and  told  him  to  bring  her  a footstool.  The 
man  obeyed.  She  tossed  the  embroidery  away  from  her  on  the  sofa. 
'‘On  second  thoughts,  1 don’t  care  about  my  work,”  she  said. 
“ Take  it  up  stairs  again.”  The  perfectly  trained  servant,  marvel- 
ing quietly,  obeyed  once  more.  Horace,  in  silent  astonishment,  ad- 
vanced to  the  sofa  to  observe  her  more  nearly.  ” How  grave  you 
look!”  she  exclaimed,  with  an  air  of  flippant  unconcern.  “You 
don’t  approve  of  my  sitting  idle,  perhaps?  Anything  to  please  you! 
/haven’t  got  to  go  up  and  down  stairs.  Ring  the  bell  again.” 

“ My  dear  Grace,”  Horace  remonstrated,  gravely,  “ you  are  quite 
mistaken.  I never  even  thought  of  your  work.” 

“Never  mind;  it’s  inconsistent  to  send  for  my  work,  and  then 
send  it  away  again.  Ring  the  bell.  ” 

Horace  looked  at  her  without  moving.  “ Grace!”  he  said,  “ what 
has  come  to  you?” 

“ How  should  I know?”  she  retorted,  carelessly.  “ Didn’t  you 
tell  me  to  rally  my  spirits?  Will  you  ring  the  bell,  or  must  I?” 

Horace  submitted.  He  frowned  as  he  walked  back  to  the  bell. 
He  was  one  of  the  many  people  who  instinctively  resent  anything 
that  is  new  to  them.  This  strange  outbreak  was  quite  new  to  him. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  sympathy  for  a servant,  when 
the  much-enduring  man  appeared  once  more. 

“ Bring  my  work  back;  I have  changed  my  mind.”  With  that 
brief  explanation  she  reclined  luxuriously  on  the  soft  sofa-cushions, 
swinging  one  of  her  balls  of  wool  to  and  fro  above  her  head,  and 
looking  at  it  lazily  as  she  lay  back.  “ 1 have  a remark  to  make, 
Horace,”  she  went  on,  when  the  door  had  closed  on  her  messenger. 
“ It  is  only  people  in  our  rank  of  life  who  get  good  servants.  Did 
you  notice?  Nothing  upsets  that  man’s  temper.  A servant  in  a 
poor  familj"  would  have  been  impudent;  a maid  of  all-work  would 
have  wondered  when  1 was  going  to  know  my  own  mind.”  The 
man  returned  with  the  embroidery.  This  time  she  received  him 
graciously;  she  dismissed  him  with  her  thanks.  “ Have  you  seen 
your  mother  lately,  Horace?”  she  asked,  suddenly  sitting  up  and 
busying  herself  with  her  work. 


THE  KEW  MAGHALEK. 


103 


**  I saw  her  yesterday,’’  Horace  answered. 

“ She  understands,  I hope,  that  I am  not  well  enough  to  call  on 
her?  She  is  not  offended  with  me?” 

Horace  recovrerecl  his  serenity.  The  deference  to  his  mother  im- 
plied in  Mercy’s  questions  gently  flattered  his  self-esteem.  He  re- 
sumed his  place  on  the  sofa. 

” Offended  with  you!”  he  answered,  smiling.  My  dear  Grace, 
she  sends  you  her  love.  And  more  than  that,  she  has  a wedding- 
present  for  you.” 

Mercy  became  absorbed  in  her  work;  she  stooped  close  over  the 
embroidery — so  close  that  Horace  could  not  see  her  face.  “ Do  you 
know  what  the  present  is?”  she  asked,  in  lowered  tones,  speaking 
absently. 

“ No.  1 only  know  it  is  waiting  for  you.  Shall  I go  and  get  it 
to-day?”  She  neither  accepted  nor  refused  the  proposal — she  went 
on  with  her  work  more  industriously  than  ever.  There  is  plenty 
of  time,”  Horace  persisted.  ‘‘lean  go  before  dinner.”  Still  she 
took  no  notice:  still  she  never  looked  up.  “ Your  mother  is  very 
kind  to  me,”  she  said,  abruptly.  “ I was  afraid,  at  one  time,  that 
she  would  think  me  hardly  good  enough  to  be  your  wife.’' 

Horace  laughed  indulgently;  his  self-esteem  was  more  gently 
flattered  than  ever.  ‘‘  Absurd!”  he  exclaimed.  ” My  darling,  you 
are  connected  with  Lady  Janet  Koy.  Your  family  is  almost  as 
good  as  ours.” 

“ Almost?”  she  repeated.  “ Only  almost?” 

The  momentary  levity  of  expression  vanished  from  Horace’s 
face.  The  family  question  was  far  too  serious  a question  to  be 
lightly  treated.  A becoming  shaclow  of  solemnity  stole  over  his 
manner.  He  looked  as  if  it  was  Sunday,  and  he  was  just  stepping 
into  church. 

“ In  OUR  family,”  he  s^id,  “ we  trace  back — by  my  father,  to  the 
Saxons;  by  my  mother,  to  the  Normans.  Lady  Janet’s  family  is 
an  old  family — on  her  side  only.” 

Mercy  dropped  her  embroidery,  and  looked  Horace  full  in  the 
face.  She,  too,  attached  no  common  importance  to  what  she  had 
next  to  say. 

‘‘If  I had  not  been  connected  with  Lady  Janet,”  she  began^. 
” would  you  ever  thought  of  marrying  me?” 

‘‘My  love!  what  is  the  use  of  asking?  You  are  connected  with 
Lady  Janet.” 

She  refused  to  let  him  escape  answering  her  in  that  way. 

“ Suppose  I J3ad  not  been  connected  with  Lady  Janet,”  she  per- 


104 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


sisted.  “ Suppose  I had  only  been  a good  girl,  with  nothing  but  my 
own  merits  to  speak  for  me.  What  would  your  mother  have  said 
then?” 

Horace  still  parried  the  question —only  to  find  the  point  of  it 
pressed  home  on  him  once  more. 

‘‘  Why  do  you  ask?”  he  said. 

“ I ask  to  be  answered,”  she  rejoined.  ‘‘  Would  your  mother  have 
liked  you  to  marry  a poor  girl  of  no  family — with  nothing  but  her 
own  virtues  to  speak  for  her?” 

Horace  was  fairly  pressed  back  to  the  wall.  ‘‘If  you  must 
know,  ” he  replied,  “ my  mother  would  have  refused  to  sanction  such 
a marriage  as  that.  ” 

“Ho  matter  how  good  the  girl  might  have  been?”  There  was 
something  defiant — almost  threatening— in  her  tone.  Horace  was 
annoyed — and  he  showed  it  when  he  spoke. 

” My  mother  would  have  respected  the  girl,  without  ceasing  to 
respect  herself,”  he  said.  ” My  mother  would  have  remembered 
wbat  was  due  to  the  family  name.” 

” And  she  would  have  said.  No?” 

“ She  would  have  said.  No.” 

“Ah!”  There  was  an  undertone  of  angry  contempt  in  the  ex- 
clamation which  made  Horace  start.  “ What  is  the  matter?”  he 
asked. 

“Nothing,”  she  answered,  and  took  up  her  embroidery  again. 
There  he  sat  at  her  side,  anxiously  looking  at  her— his  hope  in  the 
future  centered  in  his  marriage!  In  a week  more,  if  she  chose,  she 
might  enter  that  ancient  family,  of  which  he  had  spoken  so  proudly, 
as  his  wife.  “ Oh!”  she  thought,  “if  1 didn’t  love  him!  if  I had 
only  his  merciless  mother  to  think  of!” 

Uneasily  conscious  of  some  estrangement  between  them,  Horace 
spoke  again.  “Surely  I have  not  offended  you?”  he  said.  She 
turned  toward  him  once  more.  The  work  dropped  unheeded  on  her 
lap.  Her  grand  eyes  softened  into  tenderness.  A smile  trembled 
sadly  on  her  delicate  lips.  She  laid  one  hand  caressingly  on  his 
shoulder.  All  the  beauty  of  her  voice  lent  its  charm  to  the  next 
words  that  she  said  to  him.  The  w^oman’s  heart  hungered  in  its 
misery  for  the  comfort  that  could  only  come  from  his  lips. 

“ You  would  have  loved  me,  Horace — without  stopping  to  think 
of  the  family  name?” 

The  family  name  again!  How  strangely  she  persisted  in  coming 
back  to  thatl  Horace  looked  at  her  without  answering,  trying  vainly 
wO  fathom  what  was  passing  in  her  mind.  She  took  his  hand,  and 


THE  iTEW  MAGDALEH. 


105 


wrun/3c  it  hard — as  if  she  would  wring  the  answer  out  of  him  in  that 
way.  Tou  would  have  loved  me?”  she  repeated. 

The  double  spell  of  her  voice  and  her  touch  was  on  him.  He  aii^ 
swered,  warmly,  ‘"Under  any  circurnstances!  under  any  name!” 
She  put  one  arm  round  his  neck,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  his.  ” Is 
that  true?”  she  asked. 

” True  as  the  heaven  above  us!” 

She  drank  in  those  few  commonplace  words  with  a greedy  delight. 
She  forced  him  to  repeat  them  in  a new  form. 

“ No  matter  who  I might  have  been?  For  myself  alone?”  * 

“ For  yourself  alone.  ” 

She  threw  both  arms  round  him,  and  laid  her  head  passionately 
on  his  breast.  ” I love  you!  I love  you!!  I love  you!!!”  Her  voice 
rose  with  hysterical  vehemence  at' each  repetition  of  the  words — then 
suddenly  sank  to  a low  hoarse  cry  of  rasce  and  despair.  The  sense 
of  her  true  position  toward  him  revealed  itself  in  all  its  horror  as  the 
confession  of  her  love  escaped  her  lips.  Her  arms  dropped  from 
him;  she  flung  herself  back  on  the  sofa-cushions,  hiding  her  face  in 
her  hands.  “ Oh,  leave  me!”  she  moaned,  faintly.  ” Go!  go!” 

Horace  tried  to  wind  his  arm  round  her,  and  raise  her.  She 
started  to  her  feet,  and  waved  him  back  from  her  with  a wild  action 
of  her  hands,  as  if  she  was  frightened  of  him.  “ The  wedding  pres 
ent!”  she  cried,  seizing  the  first  pretext  that  occurred  to  her. 
“ You  offered  to  bring  me  your  mother’s  present.  I am  dying  to 
see  what  it  is.  Go  and  get  it!”  Horace  tried  to  compose  her.  He 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  compose  the  winds  and  the  sea. 

“Go!”  she  repeated,  pressing  one  clinched  hand  on  her  bosom. 
“ I am  not  well.  Talking  excites  me— 1 am  hysterical;  I shall  be 
better  alone.  Get  me  the  present.  Go!” 

“ Shall  1 send  Lady  Janet?  Shall  I ring  for  your  maid?” 

“ Send  for  nobody!  ring  for  nobody!  If  you  love  me — leave  me 
here  by  myself!  leave  me  instantly!” 

“ I shall  see  you  when  I come  back?” 

“ Yes!  yes!” 

There  was  no  alternative  but  to  obey  her.  Unwillingly  and  fore- 
bodingly, Horace  left  the  room.  She  drew  a deep  breath  of  relief, 
and  dropped  into  the  nearest  chair.  If  Horace  had  stayed  a moment 
longer — she  felt  it,  she  knew  it-  her  head  would  have  given  way; 
she  would  have  burst  out  before  him  with  the  terrible  truth. 
“ Oh!”  she  thought,  pressing  her  cold  hands  on  her  burning  eyes^ 
“ if  I could  only  cry,  now  there  is  nobody  to  see  me!” 

The  room  was  empty : she  had  every  reason  for  concluding  that 


1:HE  new  MAGDALEN. 


106 

she  was  alone.  And  yet  at  that  very  naoment  there  were  ears  that 
listened— there  were  eyes  waiting  to  see  her.  Little  hy  little  the 
door  behind  her  which  faced  the  library  and  led  into  the  billiard- 
room  was  opened  noiselessly  from  without,  by  an  inch  at  a time. 
As  the  opening  was  enlarged  a hand  in  a black  glove,  an  arm  in  a 
black  sleeve,  appeared,  guiding  the  movement  of  the  door.  An  in- 
terval of  a moment  passed,  and  the  worn  white  face  of  Grace  Rose- 
berry  showed  itself  stealthily,  looking  info  the  dining-room. 

Her  eyes  brightened  with  vindictive  pleasure  as  they  discovered 
Mercy  sitting  alone  at  the  further  end  of  the  room.  Inch  by  inch 
she  opened  the  door  more  widely,  took  one  step  forward,  and  checked 
herself.  xA  sound,  just  audible  at  the  far  end  of  the  conservatory, 
had  caught  her  ear. 

She  listened— satisfied  herself  that  she  was  not  mistaken— and 
drawing  back  with  a frown  of  displeasure,  softly  closed  the  door 
again,  so  as  to  hide  herself  from  view.  The  sound  that  had  dis- 
turbed her  was  the  distant  murmur  of  men’s  voices  (apparently  two 
in  number),  talking  together  in  lowered  tones,  at  the  garden  entrance 
to  the  conservatory.  Who  were  the  men?  and  what  would  they  do 
next  ? They  might  do  one  of  two  things:  they  might  enter  the  draw- 
ing room,  or  they  might  withdraw  again  by  wmy  of  the  garden. 
Kneeling  behind  the  door,  with  her  ear  at  the  key-hole,  Grace  Rose- 
berry  waited  the  event. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THEY  MEET  AGAIN. 

Absorbed  in  herself,  Mercy  failed  to  notice  the  opening  door  or 
to  hear  the  murmur  of  voices  in  the  conservatory. 

The  one  terrible  necessity  which  had  been  present  to  her  mind  at 
intervals  for  a week  past  was  confronting  her  at  that  moment.  She 
owed  to  Grace  Roseberry  the  tardy  justice  of  owning  the  truth.  The 
longer  her  confession  was  dela3^ed,  the  more  cruelly  she  was  injur- 
ing the  woman  whom  she  had  robbed  of  her  identity — the  friendless 
woman  who  had  neither  witnesses  nor  papers  to  produce,  who  was 
powerless  to  right  her  own  wrong.  Keenly  as  she  felt  this,  Mercy 
failed,  nevertheless,  to  conquer  the  horror  that  shook  her  when  she 
thought  of  the  impending  avowal.  Day  followed  day,  and  still  she 
shrank  from  the  unendurable  ordeal  of  confession— as  she  was 
shrinking  from  it  now!  Was  it  fear  for  herself  that  closed  her  lips? 
She  trembled— as  any  human  being  in  her  place  must  have  trembled 
--at  tlie  bare  idea  of  finding  herself  thrown  back  again  on  the  world, 


THE  KEW  MAGEALEK. 


107 


which  had  no  place  in  it  and  no  hope  in  it  for  her.  But  she  could 
have  overcome  that  terror — she  could  have  njsigned  herself  to  that 
doom. 

No!  it  was  not  the  fear  of  the  confession  itself,  or  the  fear  of  the 
consequences  which  must  follow  it,  that  still  held  her  silent.  The 
horror  that  daunted  her  was  the  horror  of  owning  to  Horace  and  to 
Lady  Janet  that  she  had  cheated  them  out  of  their  love.  Every  Jay 
Horace  was  fonder  and  fonder  of  her.  How  could  she  confess  to 
Lady  Janet?  how  could  she  own  to  Horace  that  she  had  imposed 
upon  him?  **  I can’t  do  it.  They  are  so  good  to  me — 1 can’t  do 
it!”  In  that  hopeless  way  it  had  ended  durinsr  the  seven  days  that 
had  gone  by.  In  that  hopeless  way  it  ended  again  now. 

The  murmur  of  the  two  voices  at  the  further  end  of  the  conserva- 
tory ceased.  The  billiard-room  door  opened  again  slowly,  by  an 
inch  at  a time.  Mercy  still  kept  her  place,  unconscious  of  the  events 
that  were  passing  around  her.  Sinking  under  the  hard  stress  laid 
on  it,  her  mind  had  drifted  little  by  little  into  a new  train  of  thought. 
For  the  first  time  she  found  the  courage  to  question  the  future  in  a 
new  way.  Supposing  her  confession  to  have  been  made,  or  suppos- 
ing the  woman  whom  she  had  personated  to  have  discovered  the 
means  of  exposing  the  fraud,  what  advantage,  she  now  asked  herelf, 
Would  Miss  Roseberry  derive  from  Mercy  Merrick’s  disgrace? 

Could  Lady  Janet  transfer  to  the  woman  who  was  really  her  relative 
by  marriage  the  affection  which  she  had  given  to  the  woman  who 
had  pretended  to  be  her  relative?  No!  All  the  right  in  the  world 
would  not  put  the  true  Grace  into  the  false  Grace’s  vacant  place. 
The  qualities  by  which  Mercy  had  won  Lady  Janet’s  love  were  the 
qualities  which  were  Mercy’s  own.  Lady  Janet  could  do  rigid  jus- 
tice—but  hers  was  not  the  heart  to  give  itself  to  a stranger  (and  to 
give  itself  unreservedly)  a second  time.  Grace  Roseberry  would  be 
formally  acknowledged,  and  there  it  would  end.  Was  there  hope 
in  this  new  view?  Yes!  There  was  the  false  hope  of  making  the 
inevitable  atonement  by  some  other  means  than  by  the  confession  of 
the  fraud. 

What  had  Grace  Roseberry  actually  lost  by  the  wrong  done  to 
her?  She  had  lost  the  salary  of  Lady  Janet’s  ‘"companion  and 
reader.”  Say  that  she  wanted  money,  Mercy  had  her  savings  from 
the  generous  allowance  made  to  her  by  Lady  Janet;  Mercy  could 
offer  money.  Or  say  that  she  wanted  employment,  Mercy’s  interest 
with  Lady  Janet  could  offer  employment,  could  offer  anything 
Grace  might  ask  for,  if  she  would  only  come  to  terms. 

Invigorated  by  the  new  hope,  Mercy  rose  excitedly,  weary  of  in* 


108 


THE  HEW  MAGDA  LEH. 


action  in  the  empty  room.  She  who  but  a few  minutes  since  had 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  their  meeting  again,  was  now  eager  to 
devise  a means  of  finding  her  way  privately  to  an  interview  with 
Grace.  It  should  be  done  without  loss  of  time— on  that  very  day, 
if  passible;  by  the  next  day  at  latest.  She  looked  round  her  me- 
chanically, pondering  how  to  reach  the  end  in  view.  Her  eyes  rest- 
ed by  chance  on  the  door  of  the  billiard-room.  Was  it  fancy?  or  did 
she  really  see  the  door  first  open  a little,  then  suddenly  and  softly 
close  again? 

Was  it  fancy?  or  did  she  really  hear,  at  the  same  moment,  a 
sound  behind  her,  as  of  persons  speaking  in  the  conservatory?  She 
paused,  and,  looking  back  in  that  direction,  listened  intently.  The 
sound — if  she  had  really  heard  it — was  no  longer  audible.  She  ad- 
vanced toward  the  billiard-room,  to  set  her  first  doubt  at  rest.  She 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  open  the  door,  when  the  voices  (recogniza- 
ble now  as  the  voices  of  two  men)  caught  her  ear  once  more.  This 
time  she  was  able  to  distinguish  the  words  that  were  spoken. 

**  Any  further  orders,  sir?'’  inquired  one  of  the  men,. 

“ Nothing  more,”  replied  the  other. 

Mercy  started,  and  faintly  flushed,  as  the  second  voice  answered 
the  first.  She  stood  irresolute  close  to  the  billiard-room,  hesitating 
what  to  do  next?  After  an  interval  the  second  voice  made  itself 
heard  again,  advancing  nearer  to  the  dining-room.  “Are  you 
there,  aunt?”  it  asked,  cautiously.  There  was  a moment’s  pause. 
Then  the  voice  spoke  for  the  third  time,  sounding  louder  and  nearer. 
“Are  you  there,”  it  reiterated;  “I  have  something  to  tell  you.” 
Mercy  summoned  her  resolution,  and  answered,  “Lady  Janet  is 
not  here.”  She  turned  as  she  spoke  toward  the  conservatory  door, 
and  confronted  on  the  threshold  Julian  Gray.  They  looked  at  one 
another  without  exchanging  a word  on  either  side.  The  situation 
— for  widely  different  reasons — was  equally  embarrassing  to  both  of 
them. 

There — as  Julian  saw  her — was  the  woman  forbidden  to  him,  the 
woman  whom  be  loved.  There — as  Mercy  saw  him — was  the  man 
whom  she  dreaded,  the  man  whose  actions  (as  she  interpreted  them) 
proved  that  he  suspected  her.  On  the  surface  of  it.  tlie  incidents . 
which  had  marked  their  first  meeting  were  now  exactly  repeated, 
with  the  one  difference  that  the  impulse  to  withdraw  this  time  ap- 
peared to  be  on  the  man’s  side,  and  not  on  the  woman’s.  It  was 
Mercy  who  spoke  first. 

“Did  you  expect  to  find  Lady  Janet  here?”  she  asked,  con- 
strainedly. 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


109 


H(l  answered,  on  bis  part,  more  constrainedly  still.  “ It  doesn't 
matter,"  he  said.  “ Another  time  will  do."  He  drew  back  as  he 
made  the  reply.  She  advanced  desperately,  with  the  deliberate 
intention  of  detaining  him  by  speaking  again. 

The  attempt  which  he  had  made  to  withdraw,  the  constraint  in 
his  manner  when  he  had  answered,  had  instantly  confirmed  her  in 
the  false  conviction  that  he,  and  he  alone,  had  guessed  the  truth! 
It  she  was  right — if  he  had  secretly  made  discoveries  abroad  which 
placed  her  entirely  at  his  mercy— the  attempt  to  induce  Grace  to 
consent  to  a compromise  with  her  would  be  manifestly  useless.  Her 
first  and  foremost  interest  now  was  to  find  out  how  she  really  stood 
in  the  estimation  of  Julian  Gray.  In  a terror  of  suspense  that 
turned  her  cold  from  head  to  foot,  she  stopped  him  on  his  way  out, 
and  spoke  to  him  with  the  piteous  counterfeit  of  a smile. 

“ Lady  Janet  is  receiving  some  visitors,"  she  said.  " If  you  will 
w'ait  here,  she  will  be  back  directly." 

The  effort  of  hiding  her  agitation  from  him  had  brought  a passing 
color  into  her  cheeks.  Vv'orn  and  wasted  as  she  was,  the  spell  of 
her  beauty  was  strong  enough  to  hold  him  against  his  own  will. 
All  he  had  to  tell  Lady  Janet  was  that  he  had  met  one  of  the  garden- 
ers in  the  conservatory,  and  had  cautioned  him  as  well  as  the  lodge- 
keeper.  It  would  have  seen  easy  to  write- this,  and  to  send  the  note 
to  his  aunt  on  quitting  the  house.  For  the  sake  of  his  own  peace 
of  mind,  for  the  sake  of  his  duty  to*  Horace,  he  was  doubly  bound 
to  make  the  first  polite  excuse  that  occurred  to  him  and  to  leave  her 
as  he  had  found  her,  alone  in  the  room.  He  made  the  attempt,  and 
hesitated.  Despising  himself  for  doing  it,  he  allowed  himself  to 
look  at  her.  Their  eyes  met.  Julian  stepped  into  the  dining-room. 

“ If  I am  not  in  the  way,"  he  said,  confusedly,  " I will  wait,  as 
you  kindly ‘propose." 

She  noticed  his  embarrassment ; she  saw  that  he  was  strongly  re- 
straining himseff  from  looking  at  her  again.  Her  own  eyes  dropped 
to  the  ground  as  she  made  the  discovery.  Her  speech  failed  her; 
her  heart  throbbed  faster  and  faster. 

" If  I look  at  him  again  (was  the  thought  in  her  mind),  I shall 
fall  at  his  feet  and  tell  him  all  that  I have  done!" 

“ If  I look  at  her  again  (was  the  thought  in  Ms  mind),  I shall  fall 
at  her  feet  and  own  that  I am  in  love  with  her!" 

With  downcast  eyes  he  placed  a chair  for  her.  With  downcast 
eyes  she  bowed  to  him  and  took  it.  A dead  silence  followed.  Never 
was  any  human  misunderstanding  more  intricately  complete  than 
the  misunderstanding  which  had  now  established  itself  between 


no 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEi^-. 


those  two.  Mercy’s  work-basket  was  near  her.  She  took  it  and 
gained  time  for  composing  herself  by  pretending  to  arrange  the  col- 
ored wools.  He  stood  behind  her  chair,  looking  at  the  graceful  turn 
of  her  head,  looking  at  the  rich  masses  of  her  hair.  He  reviled  him- 
self as  the  weakest  of  men,  as  the  falsest  of  friends,  for  still  remain- 
ing near  her — and  yet  he  remained.  The  silence  continued.  The 
billiard-room  door  opened  again  noiselessly.  The  face  of  the  listen- 
ing woman  appeared  stealthily  behind  it. 

At  the  same  moment  Mercy  roused  herself  and  spoke:  Won’t 
you  sit  down?”  she  said,  softly,  still  not  looking  round  at  him,  still 
busy  with  her  basket  of  wools.  He  turned  to  get  a chair,  turned  so 
quickly  that  he  saw  the  billiard-room  door  move,  as  Grace  Rose- 
berry  closed  it  again. 

Is  there  any  one  in  that  room?”  he  asked,  addressing  Mercy. 

“ I don’t  know,”  she  answered.  ” I thought  I saw  the  door  open 
and  shut  again  a little  while  ago.” 

He  advanced  at  once  to  look  into  the  room.  As  he  did  so,  Mercy 
dropped  one  of  her  balls  of  wool.  He  stopped  to  pick  it  up  for 
her — then  threw  open  the  door  and  looked  into  the  billiard-room. 
It  was  empty.  Had  some  person  been  listening,  and  had  that  per- 
son retreated  in  time  to  escape  discovery.  The  open  door  of  the 
smoking-room  showed  that  room  also  to  be  empty.  A third  door 
was  open— the  door  of  the  side  hall,  leading  into  the  grounds. 
Julian  closed  and  locked  it,  and  returned  to  the  dining-room. 

I can  only  suppose,”  he  said  to  Mercy,  “ that  the  billiard-room 
door  was  not  properly  shut,  and  that  the  draught  of  air  from  the 
hall  must  have  moved  it.” 

She  accepted  the  explanation  in  silence.  He  was,  to  all  appear- 
ance, not  quite  satisfied  with  it  himself.  For  a moment  or  two  he 
looked  about  him  uneasily.  Then  the  old  fascination  fastened  its 
hold  on  him  again.  Once  more  he  looked  at  the  graceful  turn  of 
her  head,  at  the  rich  masses  of  her  hair.  The  courage  to  put  the 
critical  question  to  him,  now  that  she  had  lured  him  into  remaining 
in  the  room,  was  still  a courage  that  failed  her.  She  remained  as 
busy  as  ever  with  her  work — too  busy  to  look  at  him;  too  busy  to 
speak  to  him.  The  silence  became  unendurable.  He  broke  it  by 
making  a commonplace  inquiry  after  her  health. 

‘‘  I am  well  enough  to  be  ashamed  of  the  anxiety  I have  caused 
and'^the  trouble  I have  given,”  she  answered.  “ To  day  I have  got 
down  stairs  for  the  first  time.  I am  trying  to  do  a little  work” 
She  looked  into  the  basket.  The  various  specimens  of  wool  in  it 
wore  partly  in  balls  and  partly  in  loose  skeins.  The  skeins  were 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


Ill 


mixed  and  tangled.  “ Here  is  sad  confusion!’.'  she  exclaimed,  tim- 
idly, with  a faint  smile.  How  am  1 to  set  it  right  again?" 

“ Let  me  help  you,"  said  Julian. 

"You!" 

" Why  not?"  he  asked,  with  a momentary  return  of  the  quaint 
humor  which  she  remembered  so  well.  " You  forget  that  1 am  a 
curate.  Curates  are  privileged  to  make  themselves  useful  to  young 
ladies.  Let  me  try." 

He  took  a stool  at  her  feet,  and  set  himself  to  unravel  one  of  the 
tangled  skeins.  In  a minute  the  wool  was  stretched  on  his  hands, 
and  the  loose  end  was  ready  for  Mercy  to  wind.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  trivial  action,  and  in  the  homely  attention  that  it  im- 
plied, which  in  some  degree  quieted  her  fear  of  him.  She  began  to 
roll  the  wool  off  his  hands  into  a ball.  Thus  occupied,  she  said  the 
daring  words  which  were  to  lead  him  little  by  little  into  betraying 
his  suspicions,  if  he  did  indeed  suspect  the  truth. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

THE  GUARDIAN  ANGEL. 

"You  were  here  when  I fainted,  were  you  not?"  Mercy  began. 
" Y"ou  must  think  me  a sad  coward,  even  for  a woman." 

He  shook  his  bead.  " 1 am  far  from  thinking  that,"  he  replied. 
" No  courage  could  have  sustained  the  shock  which  fell  on  you.  I 
don’t  wonder  that  you  fainted.  I don’t  wonder  that  you  have  been 
ill."  She  paused  in  rolling  up  the  ball  of  wool.  What  did  those 
words  of  unexpected  sympathy  mean?  Was  he  laying  a trap  for 
her?  Urged  by  that  serious  doubt,  she  questioned  him  more  boldly. 

" Horace  tells  me  you  have  been  abroad,"  she  said.  " Did  you 
enjoy  your  holiday?" 

" It  was  no  holiday.  I went  abroad  because  I thought  it  right  to 
make  certain  inquiries — ’’  He  stopped  there,  unwilling  to  return  to 
a subject  that  was  painful  to  her. 

Her  voice  sank,  her  fingers  trembled  round  the  ball  of  wool;  but 
she  managed  to  go  on. 

" Did  you  arrive  at  any  results?"  she  asked. 

“ At  no  results  worth  mentioning." 

The  caution  of  that  reply  renewed  her  worst  suspicions  of  him. 
In  sheer  despair,  she  spoke  out  plainly. 

" I want  to  know  your  opinion—"  she  began. 

“ Gently!"  said  Julian.  " Y'ou  are  entangling  the  wool  again. " 


113 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


“ 1 want  to  know  your  opinion  of  the  person  who  so  terribly 
frightened  me.  Do  you  think  her — 

“ Do  1 think  her— what?” 

**  Do  you  think  her  an  adventuress?” 

(As  she  said  those  words  the  branches  of  a shrub  in  the  conserv- 
atory were  noiselessly  parted  by  a hand  in  a black  glove.  The  face 
of  Grace  Roseberry  appeared  dimly  behind  the  leaves.  Undiscov- 
ered, she  had  escaped  from  the  billiard-room,  and  had  stolen  her 
way  into  the  conservatory  as  the  safer  hiding-place  of  the  two.  Be- 
hind the  shrub  she  could  see  as  well  as  listen.  Behind  the  shrub 
she  waited  as  pcitientl}^  as  ever.) 

. “ I take  a more  merciful  view,  ” Julian  answered.  **  1 believe  she 
is  acting  under  a delusion.  I don’t  blame  her;  I pity  her.” 

“You  pity  her?”  As  Mercy  repeated  the  words  she  tore  off 
Julian’s  hand  the  last  few  lengths  of  wool  left,  and  threw  the  im- 
perfectly wound  skein  into  the  basket.  “ Does  that  mean,”  she  re- 
sumed, abruptly,  “ that  you  believe  her?” 

Julian  rose  from  bis  seat,  and  looked  at  Mercy  in  astonishment. 

“ Good  Heavens,  Miss  Roseberry!  what  put  such  an  idea  as  that 
into  your  head?” 

“ I am  little  better  than  a stranger  to  you,”  she  rejoined,  with  an 
effort  to  assume  a jesting  tone.  “ You  met  with  that  person  before 
you  met  with  me.  It  is  not  so  very  far  from  pitying  her  to  believ- 
ing her.  How  could  I feel  sure  that  you  might  not  suspect  me?” 

“Suspect  you!''  he  exclaimed.  “You  don’t  know  how  you 
distress,  how  you  shock  me.  Suspect  you  I The  bare  idea  of  it 
never  entered  my  mind.  The  man  doesn't  live  who  trusts  you  more 
implicitly,  who  believes  in  you  more  devotedly,  than  1 do.” 

His  eyes,  his  voice,  his  manner,  all  told  her  that  those  words  came 
from  the  heart.  She  contrasted  his  generous  confidence  in  her  (the 
confidence  of  which  she  was  unworthy)  with  her  ungracious  distrust 
of  him.  Not  only  had  she  wronged  Grace  Roseberry — she  had 
wronged  Julian  Gray.  Could  she  deceive  him  as  she  had  deceived 
the  others?  Could  she  meanly  accept  that  implicit  trust,  that  de- 
voted belief?  Never  had  she  felt  the  base  submissions  which  her 
own  imposture  condeinned  her  to  undergo  with  a loathing  of  them 
so  overwhelming  as  the  loathing  that  she  felt  now.  In  horror  of 
herself,  she  turned  her  head  aside  in  silence,  and  shrank  from  meet- 
ing his  eye.  He  noticed  the  movement,  placing  his  own  mterpreta 
tion  on  it.  Advancing  closer,  he  asked  anxiously  if  he  had  offended 
her. 

” You  don’t  knowhow  your  confidence  touches  me,”  she  said. 


THE  2!TEW  MAGDALEK. 


113 


without  looking  up,  “You  little  think  how  keenly  1 feel  your 
kindness.” 

She  checked  herself  abruptly.  Her  fine  tact  warned  her  that 
she  was  speaking  t o warmly — that  the  expression  of  her  gratitude 
might  strike  him  as  being  strangely  exaggerated.  She  handed  him 
her  work-basket  before  he  could  speak  again. 

“ Will  you  put  it  away  for  me?”  she  asked,  in  her  quieter  tones. 
“ 1 don't  feel  able  to  work  just  now.” 

His  back  was  turned  on  her  for  a moment,  while  he  placed  the 
basket  on  a side-table.  In  that  moment  her  mind  advanced  at  a 
bound  from  present  to  future.  Accident  might  one  day  put  the  true 
Grace  in  possession  of  the  proofs  that  she  needed,  and  might  reveal 
the  false  Grace  to  him  in  the  identity  that  was  her  own.  What  would 
he  think  of  her  then?  Could  she  make  him  tell  her  without  betraying 
herself?  She  determined  to  try. 

“ Children  are  notoriously  insatiable  if  you  once  answer  their 
questions, ‘and  women  are  nearly  as  bad,”  she  said,  when  Julian 
returned  to  her.  “ Will  your  patience  hold  out  if  1 go  back  for  the 
third  time  to  the  person  whom  we  have  been  speaking  of?” 

“ Try  me,”  he  answered,  with  a smile. 

“ Suppose  you  had  not  taken  your  merciful  view  of  her?” 

“ Yes?” 

“ Suppose  you  belived  that  she  was  wickedly  bent  on  deceiving 
others  for  a purpose  of  her  own — would  you  not  shrink  from  such  a 
woman  in  horror  and  disgust?” 

“ God  forbid  that  I should  shrink  from  any  human  creature!”  he 
answered,  earnestly.  “ Who  among  us  has  a right  to  do  that?” 

She  hardly  dared  trust  herself  to  believe  him.  “You  would 
still  pity  her?”  she  persisted,  “ and  still  feel  for  her?” 

“ With  all  my  heart.” 

“ Oh,  how  good  you  are!” 

He  held  up  his  hand  in  warning.  The  tones  of  his  voice  deep- 
ened, the  luster  of  his  eyes  brightened.  She  had  stirred  in 
the  depths  of  that  great  heart  the  faith  in  which  the  man  lived — the 
steady  principle  which  guided  his  modest  and  noble  life. 

“Ho!”  he  cried.  “Don’t  say.  that!  Say  that  I try  to  love  my 
neighbor  as  myself.  -Who  but  a Pharisee  can  believe  that  he  is 
better  than  another?  The  best  among  us  to  day  may,  but  for  the 
mercy  of  God,  be  the  worst  among  us  to-morrow.  The  true  Christian 
virtue  is  the  virtue  which  never  despairs  of  a fellow  creature.  The 
true  Christian  faith  believes  in  Man  as  well  as  in  God.  Frail  and 
fallen  as  we  are,  we  can  rise  on  the  wings  of  repentance  from  earth 


114 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK". 


to  heaven.  Humanity  is  sacreu.  Humanity  has  its  immortal  destiny. 
"Who  shall  dare  say  to  man  or  woman,  ' There  is  no  hope  in  you?* 
Who  shall  flare  say  the  work  is  all  vile,  when  that  work  bears  on  it 
the  stamp  of  the  Creator’s  hand?’* 

He  turned  away  for  a moment,  struggling  v^7ith  the  emotion  which 
she  had  aroused  in  him.  Her  eyes,  as  they  followed  him,  lighted 
with  a momentary  enthusiasm — then  sank  wearily  in  the  vain  re- 
gret which  comes  too  late.  Ah!  if  he  could  have  been  her  friend  and 
her  adviser  on  the  fatal  day  when  she  first  turned  her  steps  toward 
Mablethorpe  House!  She  sighed  bitterly  as  the  hopeless  aspiration 
wrung  her  heart.  He  heard  the  sigh;  and,  turning  again,  looked 
at  her  with  a new  interest  in  his  face. 

“ Miss  Roseberry,”  he  said. 

She  was  still  absorbed  in  the  bitter  memories  of  the  past ; she 
failed  to  hear  him. 

‘‘  Miss  Roseberry,’*  he  repeated,  approaching  her.  She  looked  up 
at  him  with  a start. 

“ May  I venture  to  ask  you  something?”  he  said,  gently.  She 
shrank  at  the  question. 

” Don’t  suppose  1 am  speaking  out  of  mere  curiosity,”  he  went 
on.  “ And  pray  don’t  answer  me  unless  you  can  answer  without 
betraying  any  confidence  which  may  have  been  placed  in  you,” 

” Confidence!”  she  repeated.  “ What  confidence  do  you  mean?” 

“ It  has  just  struck  me  that  you  might  have  felt  more  than  a com- 
mon interest  in  the  questions  w'hichyou  put  to  me  a moment  since,  ” 
he  answered.  ” Were  you  by  auy  chance  speaking  of  some  un- 
happy woman — not  the  person  wdio  frightened  you,  of  course — 
but  of  some  other  woman  whom  you  know?” 

Her  head  sank  slowly  on  her  bosom.  He  had  plainly  no  sus- 
picion that  she  had  been  speaking  of  herself  ; his  tone  and  manner 
both  answered  for  it  that  his  belief  m her  was  as  strong  as  ever. 
Still  those  last  words  made  her  tremble;  she  could  not  trust  lier- 
self  to  reply  to  them.  He  accepted  the  bending  of  her  head  as  a 
reply. 

” Are  you  interested  in  her?”  he  asked  next. 

She  faintly  answered  this  lime.  ”'Yes.” 

“ Have  you  encouraged  her?” 

“ 1 have  not  dared  to  encourage  her.' 

His  face  lit  up  suddenly  Vvith  enrliuslasm. 

” Go  to  her,”  he  said,  ” and  let  me  go  with  you  and  help  you.” 

The  answer  came  faintly  and  mourul'uii.y.  She  has  sunk  too 
low  for  Ihatl” 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEH. 


115 


He  interrupted  her  with  a gesture  of  impatience.  “ What  has 
she  done?”  he  asked. 

She  has  deceived— basely  deceived— innocent  people  who  trusted 
lier.  She  has  wronged — cruelly  wronged — another  woman.” 

For  the  first  time  Julian  seated  himself  at  her  side.  The  interest 
that  was  now  roused  in  him  was  an  interest  above  reproach.  He 
could  speak  to  Mercy  without  restraint;  he  could  look  at  Mercy  with 
a pure  heart. 

“You  judge  her  very  harshly,”  he  said.  ''T>oyou  know  how 
she  may  have  been  tried  and  tempted?”  There  was' no  answer. 

“ Tell  me,”  he  went  on,  “ is  the  person  whom  she  has  injured 
stid  living?” 

“Yes.” 

“ If  the  person  is  still  living,  she  may  atone  for  the  wrong.  The 
time  may  come  when  this  sinner  too,  may  win  our  pardon  and  de- 
serve our  respect.” 

“ Could  ^0?^  respect  her?”  Mercy  asked,  sadly.  “ Can  such  a mind 
as  yours  understand  what  she  has  gone  through?” 

A smile,  kind  and  momentary,  brightened  his  attentive  face. 

“You  forget  my  melancholy  experience,”  he  answered.  “ Young 
as  I am,  I have  seen  more  tban  most  men  of  women  who  have 
sinned  and  suffered.  Even  after  the  little  that  you  have  told  me,  I 
think  1 can  put  myself  in  her  place.  I can  well  understand,  for  in- 
stance, that  she  may  have  been  tempted  beyond  human  resistance. 
Am  I right?” 

“You  are  right.” 

“She  may  have  had  nobody  near  at  the  time  to  advise  her,  to 
warn  her,  to  save  her.  Is  that  true?” 

“ It  is  true.” 

“ Tempted  and  friendless,  self- abandoned  to  the  evil  impulse  of 
the  moment,  this  woman  may  have  committed  herself  headlong  to 
the  : ct  which  she  now  vainly  repents.  She  may  long  to  make 
atonement,  and  may  not  know  how  to  begin.  All  her  energies  may 
be  crushed  under  the  despair  and  horror  of  herself,  out  of  which  the 
truest  repentance  grows.  Is  such  a woman  as  this  all  wicked,  all 
vile?  I deny  it!  She  may  have  a noble  nature;  and  she  may  show 
it  nobly  yet.  Give  her  the  opportunity  she  n^eds,  and  our  poor 
fallen  fellow-creature  may  take  her  place  among  the  best  of  us — 
honored,  blameless,  happy,  once  more!” 

“ Mercy’s  e\"es  resting  eagerly  on  him  whilo  he  was  speaking, 
dropped  again  despondingly  when  he  had  done. 

“ There  is  no  such  future  as  that,”  she  answered,  “ for  the  woman 


116 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


whom  I am  thinking  of.  She  has  lost  her  opportunity.  She  has 
done  with  hope.  ” 

Julian  gravely  considered  with  himself  for  a moment. 

“ Let  us  understand  each  other,”  he  said,  ” She  has  committed 
an  act  of  deception  to  the  injury  of  another  woman.  Was  that  what 
you  told  me?” 

^‘Yes.” 

“ And  she  has  gained  something  to  her  own  advantage  by  the 
act?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Is  she  threatened  with  discovery?” 

“ She  is  safe  from  discovery — for  the  present,  at  least.” 

“ Safe  as  long  as  she  closes  her  lips?” 

“ As  long  as  she  closes  her  lips.” 

“There  is  her  opportunity!”  cried  Julian.  “Her  future  is 
before  her.  She  has  not  done  with  hope!” 

With  clasped  hands,  in  breathless  suspense,  Mercy  looked  at  that 
inspiriting  face,  and  listened  to  those  golden  words. 

“Explain  yourself,”  she  said.  “Tell  her,  through  me,  what 
she  must  do.” 

“ Let  her  own  the  truth,”  answered  Julian,  “ without  the  base 
fear  of  discovery  to  drive  her  to  it.  Let  her  do  justice  to  the 
woman  whom  she  has  wronged,  while  that  woman  is  still  powerless 
to  expose  her.  Let  her  sacrifice  everything  that  she  has  gained  by 
the  fraud  to  the  sacred  duty  of  atonement.  If  she  can  do  that — 
for  conscience  sake,  and  for  pit}- 's  sake — to  her  own  prejudice,  to 
her  own  shame,  to  her  own  loss — then  her  repentance  has  nobly 
revealed  the  noble  nature  that  is  in  her;  then  she  is  a woman  to  be 
trusted,  respected,  beloved!  If  I saw  the  Pharisees  and  fanatics  of 
this  lower  earth  passing  her  by  in  contempt,  I would  hold  out  my 
band  to  her  before  them  all.  I would  say  to  her  in  her  solitude, 
in  her  affliction,  ‘ Rise,  poor  wounded  heart!  Beautiful,  purified  soul, 
God's  angels  rejoice  over  youl  Take  your  place  among  the  noblest 
of  God’s  creatures!’  ” 

In  those  Idst  sentences  he  unconsciously  repeated  the  language  in 
which  he  had  spoken,  years  since,  to  his  congregation  in  the  chapel 
of  the  Refuge.  With  tenfold  power  and  tenfold  persuasion  they 
now  found  their  way  again  to  Mercy’s  heart.  Softly,  suddenly, 
mysteriously,  a change  passed  over  her.  Her  troubled  face  grew 
beautifully  still.  The  shifting  light  of  terror  and  suspense  vanished 
from  her  grand  gray  eyes,  and  left  in  them  the  steady  inner  glow  o! 
a high  and  pure  resolve.  There  was  a moment  of  silence  between 


THB  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


117 


them.  They  both  had  need  of  silence.  Julian  was  the  first  to 
speak  again. 

“Have  I satisfied  you  that  her  opportunity  is  still  before  her?’’ 
he  asked.  “Do  you  feel,  as  1 feel,  that  she  has  done  with 
hope?” 

“You  have  satisfied  ms  that  the  world  holds  no  truer  friend  to 
‘ her  than  you,”  Mercy  answered,  gently  and  gratefully.  “ She  shall 
prove  herself  worthy  of  your  generous  confidence  in  her.  She 
shall  show  you  yet  that  you  have  not  spoken  in  vain.” 

Still  inevitably  failing  to  understand  her,  he  led  the  way  to  the 
door. 

“Don’t  waste  the  precious  time,”  he  said.  “ Don’t  leave  her 
cruelly  to  herself.  If  you  can’t  go  to  her,  let  me  go  as  your  mes 
senger,  in  your  place.” 

She  stopped  him  by  a gesture.  He  look  a step  back  into  the 
room,  and  paused,  observing  with  surprise  that  she  made  no  at. 
tempt  to  move  from  the  chair  that  she  occupied. 

“ Stay  here,”  she  said  to  him,  in  suddenly  altered  tones. 

“ Pardon  me,”  he  rejoined,  “ I don’t  understand  you.” 

“ You  will  understand  me  directly.  Give  me  a little  time.  ” 

He  still  lingered  near  the  door,  with  his  eyes  fixed  inquiringly  on 
her.  A m^n  of  a lower  nature  than  his,  or  a man  believing  in 
Mercy  less  devotedly  than  he  believed,  would  now  have  felt  his  first 
suspicion  of  her.  Julian  was  as  far  as  ever  from  suspecting  her, 
even  yet. 

“ Do  you  wish  to  be  alone?”  he  asked,  considerately.  “ Shall  I 
leave  you  for  a while  and  return  again?” 

She  looked  up  with  a start  of  terror.  “ Leave  me?”  she  repeated, 
and  suddenly  checked  herself  on  the  point  of  saying  more.  Nearly 
half  the  length  of  the  room  divided  them  from  each  other.  The 
words  which  she  was  longing  to  say  were  words  that  would  never 
pass  her  lips  unless  she  could  sec  some  encouragement  in  his  face. 
“ No!”  she  cried  out  to  him,  on  a sudden,  in  her  sore  need,  “ don’t 
leave  me!  Come  back  to  me!” 

He  obeyed  her  in  silence.  In  silence,  on  her  side,  she  pointed  to 
the  chair  near  her.  He  took  it.  She  looked  at  him,  and  checked 
herself  again;  resolute  to  make  her  terrible  confesvsion,  yet  still  hes- 
itating how  to  begin.  Her  woman’s  instinct  whispered  to  her, 
“ Find  courage  in  his  touch!”  She  said  to  him,  simply  and  artless, 
ly  said  to  him,  “ Give  me  encouragement.  Give  me  strength.  Let 
me  take  your  hand.”  He  neither  answered  nor  moved.  His  mind 
itemed  to  have  become  suddenly  preoccupied;  hjs  eyes  rested  oh 


118 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEl^, 


her  vacantly.  He  was  on  the  brink  of  discovering  her  secret;  in 
another  instant  he  would  have  found  his  way  to  the  truth.  In  that 
instant,  innocently  as  his  sister  might  have  taken  it,  she  took  his 
hand.  Tile  soft  clasp  of  her  fingers,  clinging  round  his,  roused  his 
senses,  fired  his  passion  for  her,  swept  out  of  his  mind  the  pure 
aspirations  which  had  filled  it  but  the  moment  before,  paralyzed  hi# 
perception  when  it  was  just  penetrating  the  mystery  of  her  dis- 
turbed manner  and  her  strange  words.  All  the  man  in  him  trem- 
bled under  the  rapture  of  her  touch.  But  the  thought  of  Horace 
was  still  present  to  him:  his  hand  lay  passive  in  hers;  his  eyes 
looked  uneasily  away  from  her.  She  innocently  strengtliened  her 
clasp  of  his  hand.  She  innocently  said  to  him,  “ Don’t  look  away 
from  me.  Your  eyes  give  me  courage.” 

His  hand  returned  the  pressure  of  hers.  He  tasted  to  the  full  the 
delicious  joy  of  looking  at  her.  She  had  broken  down  his  last  re- 
serves of  self  control.  The  thought  of  Horace,  the  sense  of  honor, 
became  obscured  in  him.  In  a moment  more  he  might  have  said 
the  words  which  he  would  have  deplored  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  if 
she  had  not  stopped  him  by  speaking  first.  “ 1 have  more  to  say  to 
you.”  she  resumed,  abruptly,  feeling  the  animating  resolution  to  lay 
her  heart  bare  before  him  at  last;  ” more,  far  more,  than  I have  said 
yet.  Generous,  merciful  friend,  let  me  say  it  here!'' 

She  attempted  to  throw  herself  on  her  knees  at  his  feet.  He 
sprang  from  his  seat  and  checked  her,  holding  her  with  both  his 
fiands,  raising  her  as  he  rose  himself.  In  the  words  which  had 
just  escaped  her,  in  the  startling  action  which  had  accompanied 
them,  the  truth  burst  on  him.  The  guilty  woman  she  had  spoken 
of  was  herself!  While  she  was  almost  in  his  arms,  while  her  bosom 
was  just  touching  his,  before  a word  more  had  passed  his  lips  oi 
ncrs,  the  library  door  opened.  Lady  Janet  Roy  entered  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XYIII. 

THE  SEARCH  IN  THE  GROUNDS. 

Grace  Roseberry,  still  listening  in  the  conservatory,  saw  the 
Tnr  open,  and  recognized  the  mistress.of  the  house.  /She  softly  drew 
Dack  and  placed  herself  in  safer  hiding,  beyond  the  range  of  viewTrom 
(he  dining-room.  Lady  Janet  advanced  no  further  tham  the  threshold^ 
She  stood  there  and  looked  at  her  nephew  and  her  adopted 
daughter  in  stern  silence.  Mercy  dropped  into  the  chair  at  her  side. 
Julian  kept  his  place  by  her.  His  mind  was  still  stunned  by  the 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


119 


discovery  that  had  burst  on  it ; his  eyes  still  rested  on  her  in  mute 
terror  of  inquiry.  He  was  as  completely  absorbed  in  the  one  act  of 
looking  at  her  as  if  they  had  been  still  alone  together  in  the  room> 
Lady  Janet  was  the  first  of  the  three  who  spoke,  She  addressed 
herself  to  her  nephew. 

“ You  were  right,  Mr.  Julian  Gray,’’  she  said,  with  her  bitterest 
emphasis  of  tone  and  manner.  ‘‘You  ought  to  have  found  nobody 
in  this  room  on  your  return  but  me.  I detain  you  no  longer.  You 
are  free  to  leave  my  house.” 

Julian  looked  round  at  his  aunt.  She  was  pointing  to  the  door. 
In  the  excited  state  of  his  sensibilities  at  that  moment,  the  action 
stung  him  to  the  quick.  He  answered  without  his  customary  con- 
sideration for  his  aunt’s  age  and  his  aunt’s  position  toward  him. 

“You  apparently  forget,  Lady  Janet,  that  you  are  not  speaking 
to  one  of  your  footmen,”  he  said.  “ There  are  serious  reasons  (of 
which  you  know  nothing)  for  my  remaining  in  your  house  a little 
longer.  You  may  rely  upon  my  trespassing  on  your  hospitality  as 
short  a time  as  possible.” 

He  turned  again  to  Mercy  as  he  said  these  words,  and  surprised 
her  timidly  looking  up  at  him.  In  the  instant  when  their  eyes  met, 
the  tumult  of  emotions  struggling  in  him  became  suddenly  stilled. 
Sorrow  for  her— compassionating  sorrow — rose  in  the  new  calm 
and  filled  his  heart.  Now,  and  now  only,  he  could  read  in  the 
wasted  and  noble  face  how  she  had  suffered.  The  pity  which  he 
had  felt  for  the  unnamed  woman  grew  to  a tenfold  pity  for  her. 
The  faith  which  he  professed— honestly  professed — in  the  better 
nature  of  the  unnamed  woman  strengthened  into  a tenfold  faith  in 
her.  He  addressed  himself  again  to  his  aunt,  in  a gentler  tone. 
“ This  lady,”  he  resumed,  “ has  something  to  say  to  me  in  private 
which  she  has  not  said  yet.  That  is  my  reason  and  my  apology  for 
not  immediately  leaving  the  house.” 

Still  under  the  impression  of  what  she  had  seen  on  entering  tlie 
room,  Lady  Janet  looked  at  him  in  angry  amazement.  Was  Julian 
actually  ignoring  Horace  Holmcroft’s  claims,  in  the  presence  of 
Horace  Holmcroft’s  betrothed  wife?  She  appealed  to  her  adopted 
daughter.  “ Grace,”  she  exclaimed,  “ have  you  heard  him?  Hare 
you  nothing  t®  say?  Must  I remind  you — ” 

She  stopped.  For  the  first  time  in  Lady  Janet’s  experience  of 
her  young  companion^  she  found  herself  speaking  to  ears  that  were 
deaf  to  her.  Mercy  was  incapable  of  listening.  Julian’s  eyes  had 
told  her  that  Julian  understood  her  at  last!  Lady  Janet  turned  to 


120 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


her  nephew  once  more,  and  addressed  him  in  the  hardest  words 
that  she  had  ever  spoken  t *)  her  sister’s  son. 

“ If  you  have  any  sense  of  decency,”  she  said — “ I say  nothing  of 
a sense  of  honor— you  will  leave  this  house,  and  your  acquaintance 
with  that  lady  will  end  here.  Spare  me  your  protests  and  excuses; 
I can  place  but  one  interpretation  on  what  I saw  when  1 opened 
that  door.” 

'‘You  entirely  misunderstand  what  you  saw  when  you  opened  that 
door,”  Julian  answered  quietly. 

‘ Perhaps  I misunderstood  the  confession  which  you  made  to  me 
not  an  hour  ago?”  retorted  Lady  Janet. 

Jqlian  cast  a look  of  alarm  at  Mercy.  “Don’t  apeak  of  it!”  he 
said,  in  a whisper.  “ She  might  hear  you.” 

“Do  you  mean  to  say  she  doesn’t  know  you  are  in  love  with 
her?” 

“ Thank  Grod,  she  has  not  the  faintest  suspicion  of  it.” 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  earnestness  with  which  he  made 
that  reply.  It  proved  his  innocence  as  nothing  else  could  have 
proved  it.  Lady  Janet  drew  back  a step — utterly  bewildered;  com^ 
pletely  at  a loss  what  to  say  or  what  to  do  next.  The  silence  that 
followed  was  broken  by  a knock  at  the  library  door.  The  man- 
servant—with  news,  and  bad  news,  legibly  written  in  his  disturbed 
face  and  manner — entered  the  room.  In  the  nervous  irritability  of 
the  moment.  Lady  Janet  resented  the  servant’s  appearance  as  a posi- 
tive offense  on  the  part  of  the  harmless  man.  “ Who  sent  for  you?” 
she  asked,  sharply.  “ What  do  you  mean  by  interrupting  us?” 

The  servant  made  his  excuses  in  an  oddly  bewildered  manner. 

“ I beg  your  ladyship’s  pardon.  I wished  to  take  the  liberty — I 
wanted  to  speafc  to  Mr.  Julian  Gray.” 

“ What  is  it?”  asked  Julian. 

The  man  looked  uneasily  at  Lady  Janet,  hesitated,  and  glanced 
at  the  door,  as  if  he  wished  himself  well  out  of  the  room  again. 

“ I hardly  know  if  1 can  tell  you,  sir,  before  her  ladyship,”  he 
answered. 

Lady  Janet  instantly  penetrated  the  secret  of  her  servant’s  hesi^ 
tation.  “I  know  what  has  happened,”  she  said;  “that  abomi- 
nable woman  has  found  her  way  here  again.  Am  I right?”  The 
man’s  eyes  helplessly  consulted  Julian.  “ Yes  or  no?”  cried  Lady 
Janet,  imperatively. 

“ Yes,  my  lady .” 

Julian  at  once  assumed  the  duty  of  asking  the  necessary  ques 
tions. 


THE  HEW  MAGEALEH< 


Ul 


**  Where  is  she?”  he  began. 

“ Somewhere  in  the  grounds,  as  we  suppose,  sir.” 

“ Did  you  see  her?” 

“ No,  sir.” 

“ Who  saw  her?” 

“ The  lodge-keeper’s  wife.  ” 

This  looked  serious.  The  lodge-keeper’s  wife  had  been  present 
while  Julian  had  given  his  instructions  to  her  husband.  She  was 
not  likely  to  have  mistaken  the  identity  of  the  person  whom  she 
had  discovered. 

” How  long  since?”  Julian  asked  next. 

“Not  very  long,  sir.” 

‘ ‘ Be  more  particular.  How  long  ? ’ ’ 

“ I didn’t  hear,  sir.” 

“ Did  the  lodge-keeper’s  wife  speak  to  the  person  when  she  saw 
her?” 

“ No,  sir;  she  didn’t  get  the  chance,  as  I understand  it.  She  is  a 
stout  woman,  if  you  remember.  The  other  was  too  quick  for  her — 
discovered  her,  sir,  and  (as  the  saying  is)  gave  her  the  slip.” 

“In  what  part  of  the  grounds  did  this  happen?” 

The  servant  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  side  hall.  “ In  that 
part,  sir.  Either  in  the  Dutch  garden  or  the  shrubbery.  1 am  not 
sure  which.”  It  was  plain,  by  this  time,  that  the  man’s  informa- 
tion was  too  imperfect  to  be  practically  of  any  use.  Julian  asked 
if  the  lodge-keeper’s  wife  was  in  the  house. 

“No,  sir.  Her  husband  has  gone  out  to  search  the  grounds  in 
her  place,  and  she  is  minding  the  gate.  They  sent  their  boy  with 
the  message.  From  what  I can  make  out  from  the  lad,  they  would 
be  thankful  if  they  could  get  a word  more  of  advice  from  you,  sir.” 

Julian  reflected  for  a moment.  So  far  as  he  could  estimate  them, 
the  probabilities  were  that  the  stranger  from  Mannheim  had  already 
made  her  way  into  the  house;  that  she  had  been  listening  in 
the  billiard -room ; that  she  had  found  time  enough  to  escape  him 
on  his  approaching  to  open  the  door;  and  that  she  was  now  (in  the 
servant’s  phrase)  “ somewhere  in  the  grounds,”  after  eluding  the 
pursuit  of  the  lodge-keeper’s  wife.  The  matter  was  serious.  Any 
mistake  in  dealing  with  it  might  lead  to  very  painful  results. 

If  Julian  had  correctly  anticipated  the  nature  of  the  confession 
which  Mercy  had  been  on  the  point  of  addressing  to  him,  the  person 
whom  he  had  been  the  means  of  introducing  into  the  house  was — 
what  she  had  vainly  asserted  herself  to  be — no  other  than  the  true 
Grace  Roseberry. 


122 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


Taking  this  for  granted,  it  was  of  the  utmost  importance  that  he 
should  speak  to  Grace  privately,  before  she  committed  herself  to 
any  rashly  renewed  assertion  of  her  claims,  and  before  she  could 
gain  access  to  Lady  Janet’s  adopted  daughter.  The  landlady  at 
her  lodgings  had  already  warned  him  that  the  object  which  she 
held  steadily  in  view  was  to  find  her  way  to  Miss  Boseberry 
when  Lady  Janet  was  not  present  to  take  her  part,  and  when  no 
gentlemen  were  at  hand  to  protect  her.  “ Only  let  me  meet  her 
face  to  face  ” (she  had  said)  “ and  I will  make  her  confess  herself 
the  imposter  that  she  is!”  As  matters  now  stood,  it  was  impossible 
to  estimate  too  seriously  the  mischief  w^hich  might  enshe  from 
such  a meeting  as  this.  Everything  now  depended  on  Julian’s 
skillful  management  of  an  exasperated  woman;  and  nobody,  at 
that  moment,  knew  where  the  woman  was. 

In  this  position  of  affairs,  as  J ulian  understood  it,  there  seemed  to 
be  no  other  alternative  than  to  make  his  inquiries  instantly  at  the 
lodge,  and  then  to  direct  the  search  in  person.  He  looked  toward 
Mercy’s  chair  as  he  arrived  at  this  resolution.  It  was  at  a cruel  sac- 
rifice of  his  own  anxieties  and  his  own  wishes  that  he  deferred  con- 
tinuing the  conversation  with  her  from  the  critical  point  at  which 
Lady  Janet’s  appearance  had  interrupted  it.  Mercy  had  risen  while 
he  had  been  questioning  the  servant.  The  attention  which  she 
had  failed  to  accord  to  what  had  passed  between  his  aunt  and  him- 
self she  had  given  to  the  imperfect  statement  which  he  had  extracted 
from  the  man.  Her  face  plainly  showed  that  she  had  listened  as 
eagerly  as  Lady  Janet  had  listened;  with  this  remarkable  difference 
between  them,  that  Lady  Janet  looked  frightened,  and  that  Lady 
Janet’s  companion  showed  no  signs  of  alarm.  She  appj^ared  to  be 
i nterested ; perhaps  anxious— nothing  more.  J ulian  spvoke  a parting 
word  to  his  aunt.  “Pray  compose  yourself,”  he  said.  “ I have 
little  doubt,  when  I can  learn  the  particulars,  that  we  shall  easily 
find  this  person  in  the  grounds.  There  is  no  reason  to  be  uneasy. 
I am  going  to  superintend  the  search  myself.  I will  return  to  you 
as  soon  as  possible.” 

Lady  Janet  listened  absently.  There  was  a certain  expression  in 
her  eyes  which  suggested  to  Julian  that  her  mind  was  busy  with 
some  project  of  its  own.  He  stopped  as  he  passed  Mercy,  on  his 
way  out  by  the  billiard-room  door.  It  cost  him  a hard  effort  to 
control  the  contending  emotions  which  the  act  of  looking  at  her 
now  awakened  m him.  His  heart  beat  fast,  his  voice  sank  low,  as 
he  spoke  to  her. 


“You  : hall  see  me  again,” 


he^said. 


“I  never  was  more  in 


THE  HEW  MAGHALEH, 


123 


earnest  in  promising  you  my  truest  help  and  sympathy  than  1 am 
now/’ 

She  understood  him.  Her  bosom  heaved  painfully;  her  eyes  fell 
to  the  ground — she  made  no  reply.  The  tears  rose  in  Julian’s  eyes 
as  he  looked  at  her.  He  hurriedly  left  the  room.  When  he  turned 
to  close  tlie  billiard-room  door  he  heard  Lady  Janet  say,  ‘‘  I will  be 
with  you  again  in  a moment,  Grace;  don’t  go  away.”  Interpreting 
these  words  as  meaning  that  his  aunt  had  some  business  of  her  own 
to  attend  to  in  the  li barary,  he  shut  the  door.  He  had  just  ad- 
vanced into  the  smoking  room  beyond,  when  he  thought  he  heard 
the  door  open  again.  He  turned  round.  Lady  Janet  had  followed 
him. 

‘ “Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  me?”  he  asked. 

“ 1 want  something  of  you,”  Lady  Janet  answered,  “ before  you 
go.” 

“ What  is  it?’ 

“ Your  card.” 

“My  card?”  ^ 

“ You  have  just  told  me  not  to  be  uneasy,”  said  the  old  lady.  “ I 
am  uneasy,  for  all  that.  1 don’t  feel  as  sure  as  you  do  that  this 
woman  really  is  in  the  grounds.  {She  may  be  lurking  somewhere  in 
the  house,  and  she  may  appear  when  your  back  is  turned.  Kemem- 
ber  what  you  told  me.”  Julian  understood  the  allusion.  He  made 
no  reply.  “ The  people  at  the  police  station  close  by,”  pursued 
Lady  Janet,  “ have  instructions  to  send  an  experienced  man,  in  plain 
clothes,  to  any  address  indicated  on  your  card  the  moment  they  re- 
ceive it.  That  is  what  you  told  me.  For  Graeme’s  protection,  I want 
your  card  before  you  leave  us.” 

It  was  impossible  for  Julian  to  mention  the  reasons  which  now  for- 
bade him  to  make  use  of  his  own  precautions~in  the  very  face  of 
the  emergency  whicii  they  had  been  especially  intended  to  meet. 
How  could  he  declare  the  true  Grace  Hoseberry  to  be  mad?  How 
could  he  give  the  true  Grace  Roseberry  into  custody?  On  the  other 
hand,  he  had  personally  pledged  himself  (when  the  circumstances 
appeared  to  require  it)  to  place  the  means  of  legal  protection  from 
insult  and  annoyance  at  his  aunt’s  disposal.  And  now,  there  stood 
Lady  Janet,  unaccustomed  to  have  her  wishes  disregarded  by  any- 
body, with  her  hand  extended,  waiting  for  the  card!  What  was  to 
be  done?  The  one  way  out  of  the  difficulty  appeared  to  be  to  sub- 
mit for  the  ntoment.  If  he  succeeded  in  discovering  the  missing 
woman,  he  could  easily  take  care  that  she. should  be  subjected  to  no 
needless  indignity.  If  she  contrived  to  slip  into  the  house  in  his 


124 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


absence,  he  could  provide  against  that  contingency  by  sending  a 
second  card  privately  to  the  police  station,  forbidding  the  officer  to 
stir  in  the  affair  until  he  had  received  further  orders.  Julian  made 
one  stipulation  only  before  h(3  handed  his  card  to  his  aunt 

“ You  will  not  use  this,  I am  sure,  without  positive  and  pressing 
necessity, he  said.  “ But  I must  make  one  condition.  Promise  me 
to  keep  my  plan  for  communicating  with  the  police  a strict  secret—” 

“ A strict  secret  from  Grace?”  interposed  Lady  Janet.  (Julian 
bowed.)  “ Do  you  suppose  I want  to  frighten  her?  Do  you  think  I 
have  not  had  anxiety  enough  about  her  already?  Of  course  I shall 
keep  it  a secret  from  Grace!” 

Reassured  on  this  point,  Julian  hastened  out  into  the  grounds. 
As  soon  as  his  back  was  turned  Lady  Janet  lifted  the  gold  pencil- 
ease  which  hung  at  her  watch-chain,  and  wrote  on  her  nephew’s  card 
(for  the  information  of  the  officer  in  plainclothes),  “ You  are  wanted 
at  Mahlethorpe  House.''  This  done,  she  put  the  card  into  the  old- 
fashioned  pocket  of  her  dress,  and  returned  to  the  dining-room. 

Grace  was  waiting,  in  obedience  to  the  instructions  which  she  had 
received.  For  the  first  moment  or  two  not  a word  was  spoken  on' 
either  side.  Now  that  she  was  alone  with  her  adopted  daughter,  a 
certain  coldness  and  hardness  began  to  show  itself  in  Lady  Janet’s 
manner.  The  discovery  that  she  had  made  on  opening  the  drawing- 
room door  still  hung  on  her  mind.  Julian  had  certainly  convinced 
her  that  she  had  misrepresented  what  she  had  seen;  but  he  had  con- 
vinced her  against  her  will.  She  had  found  Mercy  deeply  agitated; 
suspiciously  silent.  Julian  might  be  innocent,  she  admitted — there 
was  no  accounting  for  the  vagaries  of  men.  But  the  case  of  Mercy 
was  altogether  different.  Women  did  not  find  themselves  in  the 
arms  of  men  without  knowing  wdiat  they  were  about.  Acquitting 
Julian,  Lady  Janet  declined  to  acquit  Mercy.  ” There  is  some 
secret  understanding  between  them,”  thought  the  old  lady,  “and 
she’s  to  blame;  the  women  always  are!” 

Mercy  still  waited  to  be  spoken  to ; pale  and  quiet,  silent  and  sub- 
missive. Lady  Janet— in  a highly  uncertain  state  of  temper — was 
obliged  to  begin. 

“ My  dear!”  she  called  out,  sharply. 

“Yes,  Lady  Janet.” 

“ How  much  longer  are  you  going  to  sit  there  with  your  mouth 
shut  up  and  your  eyes  on  the  carpet?  Have  you  no  opinion  to  offer 
on  this  alarming  state  of  things?  You  heard  what  the  man  said  to 
Julian— I saw  you  listening.  Are  you  horribly  frightened?” 

“ No,  Lady  Janet.” 


* THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


125 


“Not  even  nervous?^’ 

“ No,  Lady  Janet.” 

“Ha!  I should  hardly  have  given  you  credit  for  so  much  cour- 
age after  my  experience  of  you  a week  ago.  I congratulate  you  on 
your  recovery.  Do  you  hear?  I congratulate  you  on  your  re- 
covery,” 

“ Thank  you,  Lady  Janet.” 

“ I am  not  so  composed  as  you  are.  We  were  an  excitable  set  in 
my  youth— -and  I haven’t  got  the  better  of  it  yet.  I feel  nervous. 
Do  you  hear?  I feel  nervous.” 

“lam  sorry , Lady  J anet.  ’ ’ 

“ You  are  very  good.  Do  you  know  what  I am  going  to  do?” 

“ No,  Lady  Janet.” 

“ I am  going  to  summon  the  household.  When  I say  the  house- 
hold, I mean  the  men , the  women  are  no  use.  I am  afraid  1 fail  to 
attract  your  attention?” 

“You  have  my  Dest  attention,  Lady  Janet.” 

“ You  are  very  good  again.  I said  the  women  were  of  no  use.” 

“ Yes,  Lady  Janet.” 

“ I mean  to  place  a man-servant  on  guard  at  every  entrance  to  the 
house.  I am  going  to  do  it  at  once.  Will  you  come  with  me?” 

“ Can  I be^of  any  use  if  I go  with  your  ladyship?” 

“You  can’t  be  of  the  slightest  use.  I give  the  brders  in  the  house 
—not  you.  I had  quite  another  motive  in  asking  you  to  come  with 
me.  I am  more  considerate  of  you  than  you  seem  to  think — I don’t 
like  leaving  you  here  by  yourself.  Do  you  understand?” 

“Tara  much  obliged  to  your  ladyship.  1 don’t  mind  being  left 
here  by  myself.” 

“You  don’t  mind?  I never  heard  of  such  heroism  in  my  life — 
out  of  a novel!  Suppose  that  crazy  wretch  should  find  her  way  in 
here?” 

“ She  would  not  frighten  me  this  time  as  she  frightened  me 
before.” 

“ Not  too  fast,  my  young  lady!  Suppose— Good  Heavens!  now  1 
think  of  it,  there  is  the  conservatory.  Suppose  she  should  be  hidden 
in  there?  Julian  is  searching  the  grounds.  Who  is  to  search  the 
conservatory?” 

“ With  your  ladyship’s  permission,  1 will  search  the  conserva- 
tc.ry.” 

“ You!!!” 

“ With  your  ladyship’s  permisilion.” 

“ I can  hardly  believe  my  own  ears!  Well,  ‘ Live  and  learn  ’ is 


126  THE  KEW  MAGDALEH.  / 

an  old  proverb.  I thought  I knew  your  character.  This  is  a 
change 

You  forget,  Lady  Janet  (if  I may  venture  to  say  so^  that  the 
circumstances  are  changed.  She  took  me  by  surprise  on  the  last  oc- 
casion; I am  prepared  for  her  now.’' 

‘‘  Do  you  really  feel  as  coolly  as  you  speak?" 

‘‘  Yes,  Lady  Janet." 

“ Have  your  own  way,  then.  I shall  do  one  thing,  however,  in 
case  of  your  having  overestimated  your  own  courage.  I shall  place 
one  of  the  men  in  the  library.  You  will  only  have  to  ring  for  him 
if  anything  happens.  He  will  give  the  alarm— and  I shall  act  ac- 
cordingly. 1 have  my  plan, " said  her  ladyship,  comfortably  con- 
scious of  the  card  in  her  pocket.  “ Don’t  look  as  if  you  wanted  to 
know  what  it  is.  I have  no  intention  of  saying  anything  about  it — 
except  that  it  will  do.  Once  more,  and  for  the  last  time — do  you 
stay  here?  or  do  you  go  with  me?" 

“ 1 stay  here." 

She  respectfully  opened  the  library  door  for  Lady  Janet’s  depart- 
ure as  she  made  that  reply.  Throughout  the  interview  she  had  been 
carefully  and  coldly  deferential;  she  bad  not  once  lifted  her  eyes  to 
Lady  Janet’s  face.  The  conviction  in  her  that  a few^  hours  more 
would,  in  all  probability,  see  her  dismissed  from  the  house  had  of 
necessity  fettered  every  word  that  she  spoke— had  morally  separated 
her  already  from  the  injured  mistress  whose  love  she  had  won  in 
disguise.  Utterly  incapable  of  attributing  the  change  in  her  young 
companion  to  the  true  motive,  Lady  Janet  left  the  room  to  summon 
her  domestic  garrison,  thoroughly  puzzled  and  (as  a necessary  con- 
sequence of  that  condition)  thoroughly  displeased.  Still  holding  the 
library  door  in  her  hand,  Mercy  stood  watching  with  a heavy  heart 
the  progress  of  her  benefactress  down  the  length  ©f  the  room  on  the 
way  to  the  front  hall  beyond.  She  had  honestly  loved  and  respected 
the  warm-hearted,  quick-tempered  old  lady.  A sharp  pang  of  pain 
wrung  her  as  she  thought  of  the  time  when  even  the  chance  utter- 
ance of  her  name  would  become  an  unpardonable  offense  in  Lady 
Janet’s  house.  But  there  was  no  shrinking  in  lier  now  from'  the 
ordeal  of  the  confession.  She  was  not  only  anxious — she  was  im- 
patient for  Julian’s  return.  Before  she  slept  that  night  Julian’s  com 
tidence  in  her  should  be  a confidence  that  she  had  deserved. 

“ Let  her  own  the  truth,  without  the  base  fear  of  discovery  to  drive 
her  to  it.  Let  her  do  jtistice  to  the  woman  whom  she  has  wronged, 
while  that  woman  is  still  powerless  to  expose  her.  Let  her  sacrifice 
everything  that  she  has  gained  by  the  fraud  to  the  sacred  duty  of 


THE  HEW  MAOBALEH. 


137 


fttomiiiqit.  If  she  can  do  that,  then  her  repentance  has  nobly  re- 
V'caled  the  noble  nature  that  is  in  her;  then  she  is  a woman  to  be 
Trusted,  respected,  beloved/^  Those  words  were  as  vividly  present 
to  her  as  if  she  still  heard  them  falling  from  his  lips.  Those  other 
Words  which  had  followed  them  rang  as  grandly  as  ever  in  her  ears: 
“ Hise,  poor  wounded  heart ! BeaiAliful,  purified  soul,  God’s  angels 
rejoice  over  you!  Take  your  place  among  the  noblest  of  God’s 
creatures!”  Did  the  woman  live  who  could  hear  Julian  Gray  say 
that,  and  who  could  hesitate,  at  any  sacritice,  at  any  loss,  to  justify 
his  belief  in  her?  “Oh!”  she  thought,  longingl}^  while  her  eyes 
followed  Lady  Janet  to  the  end  of  the  library,  “ if  your  worst  fears 
could  only  be  realized!  If  I could  only  see  Grace  Roseberry  in 
this  room,  how  fearlessly  1 could  meet  her  now!” 

She  closed  the  library  door,  while  Lady  Janet  opened  the  other 
door  which  led  into  the  hall.  As  she  turned  and  looked  back  into 
the  dining-room  a cry  of  astonishment  escaped  her.  There — as  if 
in  answer  to  the  aspiration  which  was  still  in  her  mind;  there,  es- 
tablished in  triumph  on  the  cliair  that  she  had  just  left — sat  Grace 
Roseberry,  in  sinister  silence,  waiting  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  EVIL  GENIUS. 

Recovering  from  the  first  overpowering  sensation  of  surprise, 
Mercy  rapidly  advanced,  eager  to  say  her  first  penitent  words, 
Grace  stopped  her  by  a warning  gesture  of  the  hand.  “No  nearer 
to  me,”  she  said,  with  a look  of  contemptuous  command.  “ Stay 
where  you  are.”  Mercy  paused.  Grace’s  reception  had  startled 
her.  She  instinctively  took  the  chair  nearest  to  her  to  support  her- 
self. Grace  raised  a warning  hand  for  the  second  time,  and  issued 
another  command : 

“ I forbid  you  to  be  seated  in  my  presence.  You  have  no  right 
1.0  be  in  this  house  at  all.  Remember,  if  you  please,  who  you  are, 
and  who  I am.” 

The  tone  in  which  those  words  were  spoken  was  an  insult  in  itself. 
Mercy  suddenly  lifted  her  head;  the  angry  answer  was  on  her  lips. 
She  checked  it,  and  submitted  in  silence.  “ I will  be  worthy  of 
Julian  Gray’s  confidence  in  me,”  she  thought,  as  she  stood  patiently 
by  the  chair.  “ I will  bear  anything  from  the  woman  whom  I have 
wronged.” 

In  silence  the  two  faced  each  other;  alone  together,  foit  the  fifst 


128 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEK, 


time  since  they  had  met  in  the  French  cottage.  The  contrast  be 
tween  them  was  strange  to  see.  Grace  Eoseberry,  seated  in  hex 
chair,  little  and  lean,  with  her  dull,  white  complexion,  with  her 
hard,  threatening  face,  with  her  shrunken  figure  clad  in  its  plain 
and  poor  black  garments,  looked  like  a being  of  a lower  sphere, 
compared  with  Mercy  Merrick,  standing  erect  in  her  rich  silken 
dress;  her  tall,  shapely  figure  towering  over  the  little  creature  before 
her;  her  grand  head  bent  in  graceful  submission;  gentle,  patient, 
beautiful;  a woman  whom  it  was  a privilege  to  look  at  and  a dis- 
tinction to  admire.  If  a stranger  had  been  told  that  those  two  had 
played  their  parts  in  a romance  of  real  life— that  one  of  them  was 
really  connected  by  the  ties  of  relationship  with  Lady  Janet  Eoy, 
and  that  the  other  had  successfully  attempted  to  personate  her — he 
would  inevitably,  if  it  had  been  left  to  him  to  guess  which  was 
which,  have  picked  out  Grace  as  the  counterfeit  and  Mercy  as  the 
true  woman.  Grace  broke  the  silence.  She  had  waited  to  open  her 
lips  until  she  had  eyed  her  conquered  victim  all  over,  with  disdain- 
fully minute  attention,  from  head  to  foot. 

“ Stand  there.  I like  to  look  at  you,"^  she  said,  speaking  with  a 
spiteful  relish  of  her  own  cruel  words.  It’s  no  use  fainting  this 
time.  You  have  not  got  Lady  Janet  Eoy  to  bring  you  to.  There 
are  no  gentlemen  here  to-day  to  pity  you  and  pick  you  up.  Mercy 
Merrick,  I have  got  you  at  last.  Thank  God,  my  turn  has  come! 
You  can’t  escape  me  now!” 

All  the  littleness  of  heart  and  mind  which  had  first  shown  itself 
in  Grace  at  the  meeting  in  the  cottage,  when  Mercy  told  the  sad 
story  of  her  life,  now  revealed  itself  once  more.  The  woman  who 
in  those  past  times  had  felt  no  impulse  to  take  a suffering  and  a 
penitent  fellow -creature  by  the  hand  was  the  same  woman  who 
could  feel  no  pity,  who  could  spare  no  insolence  of  triumph,  now. 
Mercy’s  sweet  voice  apswered  her  patiently,  in  low,  pleading  tones. 

‘‘I  have  not  avoided  you,”  she  said.  “I  would  have  gone  to 
you  of  my  own  accord  if  I had  known  that  you  were  here.  It  is 
my  heart-felt  wish  to  own  that  I have  sinned  against  you,  and  to 
make  all  the  atonement  that  I can.  1 am  too  anxious  to  deserve 
your  forgiveness  to  have  any  fear  of  seeing  you.” 

Conciliatory  as  the  reply  was,  it  was  spoken  with  a simple  and 
modest  dignity  of  manner  which  roused  Grace  Eoseberry  to  fury. 

” How  dare  you  speak  to  me  as  if  you  were  my  equal?”  she  burst 
out,  “You  stand  there  and  answer  me  as  if  you  had  your  right 
and  your  place  in  this  house.  You  audacious  woman!  1 have  my 
right  and  my  place  here — and  what  am  1 obliged  to  do?  I am 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


129 


oblteed  to  hang  about  in  the  grounds,  and  fly  from  the  sight  of  the 
servants,  and  hide  like  a thief,  and  wait  like  a beggar,  and  all  for 
what?  For  the  chance  of  having  a word  with  you.  Yes!  you, 
madam!  with  the  air  of  the  Kefuge  and  the  dirt  of  the  streets  on 
you!’’ 

Mercy’s  head  sank  lower;  her  hand  trernbled  as  it  held  by  the 
back  of  the  chair.  It  was  hard  to  bear  the  reiterated  insults  heaped 
on  her,  but  Julian’s  influence  still  made  itself  felt.  She  answered 
as  patiently  as  ever. 

“If  it  is  your  pleasure  to  use  harsh  words  to  me,”  she  said,  “ I 
have  no  right  to  resent  them.” 

“ You  have  no  right  to  anything!”  Grace  retorted.  “You  have 
no  right  to  the  gown  on  your  back.  Look  at  Yourself,  and  look  at 
Me!”  Her  eyes  traveled  with  a tigerish  stare  over  Mercy’s  costly 
silk  dress,  “Who  gave  you  that  dress?  Who  gave  you  those 
jewels?  I know!  Lady  Janet  gave  them  to  Grace  Roseberry.  Are 
you  Grace  Roseberry?  That  dress  is  mine.  Take  off  your  bracelets 
and  your  brooch.  They  were  meant  for  me.” 

“You  may  soon  have  them.  Miss  Roseberry.  They  will  not  be  in 
my  possession  many  hours  longer.” 

“ What  do  you  mean?” 

However  badly  you  may  use  me,  it  is  my  duty  to  undo  the  harm 
that  I have  done.  I am  bound  to  do  you  justice — I am  determined 
lo  confess  the  truth.”  Grace  smiled  scornfully. 

“ You  confess!”  she  said.  “ Do  you  think  I am  fool  enough  to 
believe  that?  You  are  one  shameful  brazen  lie  from  head  lo  foot! 
Are  you  the  woman  to  give  up  your  silks  and  your  jewels,  and  your 
position  in  this  house,  and  to  go  back  to  the  Refuge  of  your  own 
accord?  Not  you — not  you!” 

A first  faint  flush  of  color  showed  itself,  stealing  slowly  over 
Mercy’s  face;  but  she  still  held  resoiute'}^  by  the  good  influence 
which  Julian  had  left  behind  him.  She  could  still  say  to  herself, 
“ Anything  rather  than  disappoint  Julian  Gray?”  Sustained  by 
the  courage  which  he  had  called  to  life  in  her,  she  submitted  lo 
her  martyrdom  as  bravely  as  ever.  But  there  was  an  ominous 
change  in  her  now ; she  could  only  submit  in  silence ; she  could  no 
longer  trust  herself  to  answer.  . The  mute  endurance  in  her  face 
additionally  exasperated  Grace  Rosebery. 

“ You  won’t  confess,”  she  went  on.  “ You  have  had  a we«k  to 
confess  in,  and  you  have  not  done  it  yet.  No,  no!  you  are  of  the 
sort  that  cheat  and  lie  to  the  last.  I am  glad  of  it;  1 shall  have  the 
T^y  of  exposing  you  myself  before  the  whole  house.  I shall  be  the 


130 


THE  HEW  MAGDALLH. 


blessed  means  of  casting  you  back  on  the  streets.  Oh!  it  .will  be 
almost  worth  all  I have  gone  through  to  see  you  with  a policeman's 
hand  on  your  arm,  and  the  mob  pointing  at  you  and  mocking  you 
on  your  way  to  jail!  ' 

This  time  the  sting  struck  deep;  the  outrage  was  beyond  endur- 
ance. Mercy  gave  the  . woman  who  had  again  and  again  deliberately 
insulted  her  a first  warning. 

Miss  Roseberry/'  she  said,  “I  have  borne  without  a murmur 
the  bitterest  words  you  could  say  to  me.  Spare  me  any  more  in- 
/gults.  Indeed,  indeed,  I am  eager  to  restore  you  to  your  just  rights. 
With  my  whole  heart  I say  it  to  you— I am  resolved  to  confess 
everything  P’ 

Slie  spoke  with  trembling  earnestness  of  tone.  Grace  listened 
with  a hard  smile  of  incredulity  and  a hard  look  of  contempt. 

“ Ton  are  not  far  from  the  bell,”  she  said;  “ ring  it.” 

Mercy  looked  at  her  in  speechless  surprise.  '‘You  are  a perfect 
picture  of  repentance — you  are  dying  to  own  the  truth,”  pursued 
the  other,  satirically.  “Own  it  before  everybody,  and  own  it  at 
once.  Call  in  Lady  Janet— call  in  Mr.  Gray  and  Mr.  Holmcroft— 
call  in  the  servants.  Go  down  on  your  knees  and  acknowledge 
yourself  an  impostor  before  them  all.  Then  I will  believe  you — > 
not  before.” 

“ Don’t,  don't  ^arn  me  against  you!”  cried  Mercy,  entreatingly. 

“ What  do  I care  whether  you  are  against  me  or  not?” 

“ Don’t— for  your  own  sake  don’t  go  on  provoking  me  mucl^ 
longer!” 

“ For  my  own  sake?  You  insolent  creature!  Do  you  mean  to 
threaten  me?” 

With  a last  fiesperate  effort,  her  heart  beating  faster  and  faster, 
the  blood  burning  hotter  and  hotter  in  her  cheeks,  Mercy  still  con 
trolled  herself, 

“Have  some  compassion  on  me!”  she  pleaded.  “Badly  as  \ 
have  behaved  to  you,  1 am  still  a woman  like  yourself.  I can’t  face 
the  shame  of  acknowledging  what  I have  done  before  the  whole 
house.  Lady  Janet  treats  me  like  a daughter;  Mr.  Holmcroft  has 
engaged  to  marry  me.  1 can’t  tell  Lady  Janet  and  Mr.  llolmorofl 
to  their  faces  that  I have  cheated  them  out  of  their  love.  But  they 
shall  know  it  for  all  that.  I can,  and  will,  before  1 rest  to-night, 
t«l]  the  whole  truth  to  Mr.  Julian  Gray.” 

Grace  burst  out  laughing.  “ Aha!”  she  exclaimed,  with  a cyn 
ical  outburst  of  gayety.  “ Now  we  have  come  to  it  at  last  I” 

“ Take  care!”  said  Mercy  “ Take  care!”' 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN 


131 


*‘Mr.  Julian  Gray!  I was  behind  the  billiard-room  door — 1 saw 
you  coax  Mr.  Julian  Gray  to  coaie  in!  Confession  loses  all  its  hor- 
rors, and  becomes  quite  a luxury,  with  Mr.  Julian  Gray!^’ 

“ No  more,  Miss  Koseberry!  no  more!  For  God’s  sake,  don’t  put 
me  besi(l€  myself!  You  have  tortured  me  enough  already.” 

”You  haven’t  been  on  the  streets  fur  nothing.  You  are  a 
woman  with  resources;  you  know  the  value  of  having  two 
strings  to  your  bow.  If  Mr.  Holmcroft.  fails  you,  you  have  got  Air. 
Julian  Gray.  Ah!  you  sicken  me.  Til  see  that  Mr.  Ho^iiicroft’s 
eyes  are  opened;  he  shall  know  what  a woman  he  might  have  mar- 
ried but  for  Me—” 

She  checked  herself;  the  next  refinement  of  insult  remained  sus- 
pended on  her  lips.  The  woman  whom  she  had  outraged  suddenly 
advanced  on  her.  Her  eyes,  staring  helplessly  upward,  saw  Mercy 
Alerrick’s  face,  while  with  the  terrible  anger  which  drives  the  blood 
back  on  the  heart,  bending  threateningly  over  her. 

“ * You  wdll  see  that  Mr.  Holmcroft’s  eyes  are  opened,’  ” Mercy 
slowly  repeated;  ‘ he  shall  know  what  a woman  he  might  have 
married  but  for  you!’  ” 

jShe  paused,  and  followed  those  words  by  a question  which  struck 
a creeping  terror  through  Grace  Eoseberry,  from  the  hair  of  her 
head  to  the  soles  of  her  feet:  ^ 

“ Who  are  youV^ 

The  suppressed  fury  of  look  and  tone  which  accompanied  that 
question  told,  as  no  violence  could  have  told  it,  that  the  limits  of 
Mercy’s  endurance  had  been  found  at  last.  In  the  guardian  angel’s 
absence  the  evil  genius  had  done  its  evil  work.  The  better  nature 
which  Julian  Gray  had  brought  to  life  sank,  poisoned  by  the  vile 
venom  of  a woman’s  spiteful  tongue.  An  easy  and  a terrible  means 
of  avenging  the  outrages  heaped  on  her  was  within  Alercy’s  reach, 
if  she  chose  to  take  it.  In  the  frenzy  of  her  indignation  she  never 
hesitated — she  took  it. 

” Who  are  you?”  she  asked  for  the  second  time. 

Grace  roused  herself  and  attempted  to  speak.  Mercy  stopped  her 
with  a scornful  gesture  of  her  hand. 

“I  remember!”  she  went  on,  with  the  same 'fiercely-suppressed 
rage.  “ You  are  the  madwoman  from  the  German  hospital  who  came 
here  a week  ago.  I am  not  afraid  of  you  this  time.  Sit  down  and 
rest  yourself,  Mercy  Alerrick.” 

Deliberately  giving  her  that  name  to  her  face,  Mercy  turned  from 
her  and  took  the  chair  which  Grace  had  forbidden  her  to  occupy 
when  tlie  interview  began.  Grace  started  to  her  feet. 


132 


THE  NEW  MAGDALENc 


“ What  does  this  mean?”  she  asked. 

” It  means,”  answered  Mercy,  contemptuously,  ” that  1 recall 
every  word  I said  to  you  just  now.  It  means  that  I am  resolved  to 
keep  my  place  in  this  house.” 

“ Are  you  out  of  your  senses?” 

“ You  are  not  far  from  the  bell.  Ring  it.  Do  what  you  asked 
me  to  do.  Call  in  the  whole  household,  and  ask  them  which  of  us  is 
mad— you  or  I.” 

Mercy  Merrick!  you  shall  repent  this  to  the  last  hour  of  your 
life!”  Mercy  rose  again,  and  fixed  her  flashing  eyes  on  the  woman 
who  still  defied  her. 

‘‘  I have  had  enough  of  you!”  she  said.  “ Leave  the  house  while 
yom  can  leave  it.  Stay  here,  and  I will  send  for  Lady  Janet  Roy.” 

'‘You  can’t  send  for  her!  You  daren’t  send  for  her!” 

” I can  and  I dare.  You  have  not  a shadow  of  a proof  against 
me.  I have  got  the  papers;  I arn  in  possession  of  the  place;  I have 
established  myself  in  Lady  Janet’s  confidence.  I mean  to  deserve 
your  opinion  of  me — I will  keep  my  dresses  and  my  jewels  and  my 
position  in  the  house.  I deny  that  I have  done  wrong.  Society 
has  used  me  cruelly.  I owe  nothing  to  Society.  I have  a right  to  take 
any  advantage  of  it  I’f  I can.  I deny  that  I have  injured  you.  How 
was  1 to  know  that  you  would  come  to  life  again?  Have  I degraded 
your  name  and  your  character?  I have  done  honor  to  both.  I have 
won  everybody’s  liking  and  everybody’s  respect.  Do  you  think 
Lady  Janet  would  have  loved  you  as  she  loves  me?  Not  she!  I tell 
you  to  your  face  I have  filled  the  false  position  more  creditably  than 
you  could  have  filled  the  true  one,  and  I mean  to  keep  it.  I won’t 
give  up  your  name;  I won’t  restore  your  character.  Do  your  worst; 
I defy  you!” 

She  poured  out  those  reckless  words  in  one  headlong  flow  which 
defied  interruption.  There  was  no  answering  her  until  she  was  too 
breathless  to  say  more.  Grace  seized  her  opportunity  the  moment 
it  was  within  her  reach, 

“You  defy  me?”  she  returned,  resolutely.  “You  won’t  defy 
me  long.  I have  written  to  Canada.  My  friends  will  speak  for 
me.” 

“ What  of  it,  if  they  do?  Your  friends  are  strangers  here.  I am 
Lady  Janet’s  adopted  daughter.  Do  you  think  she  will  believe  your 
friends?  She  will  believe  me.  She  will  burn  their  letters  if  they 
write.  She  will  forbid  the  house  to  them  if  they  come.  1 shall  be 
Mrs.  Horace  Holmcroft  in  a week’s  time.  Who  can  shake 
position?  Who  can  injure  Me?” 


THE  HEW  MAGHALEH. 


133 


“ Wait  a little.  You  forget  the  matron  at  the  Refuge.” 

” Find  her,  if  you  can.  1 never  told  you  her  name.  1 never  told 
you  where  the  Refuge  was.” 

” I will  advertise  your  name,  and  find  the  matron  in  that  way.” 

“ Advertise  in  every  newspaper  in  London.  Do  you  think  1 gave 
a stranger  like  you  the  name  I really  bore  in  the  Refuge?  1 gave  you 
the  name  1 assumed  when  1 left  England.  No  such  person  as 
Mercy  Merrick  is  known  to  the  matron.  No  such  person  is  known 
to  Mr.  Holmcroft.  He  saw  me  at  the  French  cottage  while  you 
were  senseless  on  the  bed.  1 had  my  gray  cloak  on;  neither  he  nor 
any  of  them  saw  me  in  my  nurse’s  dress.  Inquiries  have  been  made 
about  me  on  the  Continent — and  (1  happen  to  know  from  the  person 
who  made  them)  with  no  result.  I am  safe  in  your  place;  I am 
known  by  your  name.  I am  Grace  Roseberry;  and  you  are  Mercy 
Merrick.  Disprove  it  if  you  can!” 

Summing  up  the  unassailable  security  of  her  false  position  in 
those  closing  words,  Mercy  pointed  significantly  to  the  billiard-room 
door. 

“You  were  hiding  there,  by  your  own  confession,”  she  said. 
“You  know  your  way  out  by  that  door.  Will  you  leave  the 
room?” 

“ I won’t  stir  a step!” 

Mercy  walked  to  a side-table,  and  struck  the  bell  placed  on  it. 

At  the  same  moment  the  billiard-room  door  opened.  Julian  Gray 
appeared —returning  from  his  unsuccessful  search  in  the  grounds. 

He  had  barely  crossed  the  threshold  before  the  library  door  was 
thrown  open  next  by  the  servant  posted  in  the  room.  The  man 
drew  back  respectfully,  and  gave  admission  to  Lady  Janet  Roy* 
She  was  followed  by  Horace  Holmcroft  with  his  mother’s  wedding 
present  to  Mercy  in  his  hand. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  POLICEMAN  IN  PLAIN  CLOTHES. 

Julian  looked  round  the  room,  and  stopped  at  the  door  which 
he  had  just  opened.  His  eyes  rested  first  on  Mercy,  next  on  Grace. 
The  disturbed  faces  of  both  the  w^omen  told  him  but  too  plainly  that 
the  disaster  which  he  had  dreaded  had  actually  happened.  They 
had  met  without  any  third  person  to  interfere  between  them.  To 
What  extremities  the  hostile  interview  might  have  led  it  was  impos- 
sible for  him  -to  guess.  In  his  aunt’s  presence  he  could  only  wait 


134 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


his  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Mercy,  and  be  ready  to  interpose  if 
anything  was  ignorantly  done  which  might  give  just  cause  of  offense 
to  Grace.  Lady  Janet’s  course  of  action  on  entering  the  dining- 
room was  in  perfect  harmony  with  Lady  Janet’s  character. 

Instantly  discovering  the  intruder,  she  looked  sharply  at  Mercy. 
“What  did  I tell  you?”  she  asked.  “Are  you  frightened?  Ho! 
not  in  the  least  frightened ! Wonderful!”  She  turned  to  the  serv- 
ant. “ Vfait  in  the  library;  I may  want  you  again.”  She  looked  at 
Julian.  “ Leave  it  all  to  me;  I can  manage  it”  She  made  a sign 
to  Horace.  “ Stay  where  you  are,  and  told  your  tongue.”  Having 
now  said  all  that  was  necessary  to  every  one  else,  she  advanced  to 
the  part  of  the  room  in  which  Grace  was  standing,  with  lowering 
brows  and  firmly  shut  lips,  defiant  of  everybody. 

“ 1 have  no  desire  to  offend  you,  or  to  act  harshly  toward  you,’* 
her  ladyship  began,  very  quietly.  “ I only  suggest  that  your  visits 
to  my  house  cannot  possibly  lead  to  any  satisfactory  result.  I hope 
you  will  not  oblige  me  to  say  any  harder  w^ords  than  these — I hope 
you  will  understand  that  I wish  you  to  withdraw.” 

The  order  of  dismissal  could  hardly  Uave  been  issued  with  more 
humane  consideration  for  the  supposed  mental  infirmity  of  the  per- 
son to  whom  it  was  addressed.  Grace  instantly  resisted  it  in  the 
plainest  possible  terms, 

“ In  justice  to  my  father’s  memory  and  in  justice  to  myself,”  she 
answered,  “I  insist  on  a hearing.  I refuse  to  withdraw.”  She 
deliberately  took  a chair  and  seated  herself  in  the  presence  of  the 
mistress  of  the  house.  Lady  Janet  wailed  a moment — steadily  con- 
trolling her  temper.  In  the  interval  of  silence  Julian  seized  the  op- 
portunity of  remonstrating  with  Grace. 

“ Is  this  what  you  promised  me?”  he  asked,  gently.  “You  gave 
me  your  word  that  you  would  not  return  to  Mablethorpe  House.’* 

Before  he  could  say  more  Lady  Janet  had  got  her  temper  under 
command.  She  began  her  answer  to  Grace  by  pointing  with  a per 
emptory  forefinger  to  the  library  door. 

“ If  you  have  not  made  up  your  mind  to  take  my  advice  by  the 
time  I have  walked  back  to  that  door,”  she  said,  “ I will  put  it  out 
of  your  power  to  set  me  at  defiance.  I am  used  to  be  obeyed,  anSl  I 
will  be  obeyed.  You  force  me  to  use  hard  words.  I warn  you  be- 
fore it  is  too  late.  Go!” 

She  returned  slowly  toward  the  library.  Julian  attempted  to  in- 
terfere with  another  word  of  remons:  rmce.  His  aunt  stopped  him 
by  a gesture  which  said,  plainly,  “ I insist  on  acting  for  myself.” 
He  looked  next  at  Mercy.  [Wouli  she  remain  passive?  Yes. 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


135 


She  never  lifted  her  head ; she  never  moved  from  the  place  in  which 
she  was  standing  apart  from  the  rest.  Horace  himself  tried  to  at- 
tract her  attention,  and  tried  in  vain.  Arrived  at  the  library  door. 
Lady  Janet  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  the  little  immovable  black 
figure  in  the  chair. 

Will  you  go?'’  she  asked,  for  the  last  time. 

Grace  started  up  angrily  from  her  seat,  and  fixed  her  viperish  eyes 
on  Mercy. 

‘'H  won’t  be  turned  out  of  your  ladyship’s  house  in  the  presence 
of  that  impostor,”  she  said.  “ 1 may  yield  to  force,  but  I will  yield 
to  nothing  else.  I insist  on  my  right  to  the  place  that  she  has  stolen 
from  me.  It’s  no  use  scolding  me,”  she  added,  turning  doggedly  to 
Julian.  ” As  long  as  that  woman  is  here  under  my  name  I can’t 
and  won’t  keep  away  from  the  house.  I warn  her,  in  your  presence, 
that  I have  written  to  my  friends  in  Canada!  I dare  her  before  you 
all  to  deny  that  she  is  the  outcast  and  adventuress,  Mercy  Merrick.  ” 

The  challenge  forced  Mercy  to  take  part  in  the  proceedings,  in 
her  own  defense.  Bhe  had  pledged  herself  tf  meet  and  defy, Grace 
Eoseberry  on  her  own  ground.  She  attemT  ed  to  speak — Horace 
stopped  her. 

‘‘You  degrade  yourself  if  you  answer  her,”  he  said.  ” Take  my 
arm,  and  let  us  leave  the  room.” 

‘‘Yes!  Take  her  out!”  cried  Grace.  ‘‘  She  may  well  be  ashamed 
to  face  an  honest  woman.  It’s  her  place  to  leave  the  room— not 
mine!” 

Mercy  drew  her  hand  out  of  Horace’s  arm.  ” I decline  to  leave 
the  room,”  she  said,  quietly. 

Horace  still  tried  to  persuade  her  to  withdraw.  ‘‘  I can’t  bear  to 
hear  you  insulted,”  he  rejoined.  ‘‘  The  woman  offends  me,  though 
I know  she  is  not  responsible  for  what  she  says.” 

‘‘Nobody’s  endurance  will  be  tried  much  longer,”  said  Lady 
Janet.  She  glanced  at  Julian,  and  taking  from  her  pocket  the  card 
which  he  had  given  her,  opened  the  library  door. 

” Go  to  the  police  station,”  she  said  to  the  servant  in  an  under- 
tone, ‘‘  and  give  that  card  to  the  inspector  on  duty.  Tell  him  there 
is  not  a moment  to  lose.” 

‘‘  Stop!”  said  Julian,  before  his  aunt  could  close  the  door  again. 

“ Stop?”  repeated  Lady  Janet,  sharply.  ” I have  given  the  man 
his  orders.  What  do  you  mean?” 

‘‘  Before  you  send  the  card  I wish  to  say  a word  in  private  to  this 
lady,’"  replied  Julian,  indicating  Grace.  “ When  that  is  done,”  he 
continued,  approaching  Mercy,  and  pointedly  addressing  himself  to 


136 


THE  HEW  MAGHALEH. 


her,  ‘‘  1 shall  have  a request  to  make — I shall  ask  you  to  give  me 
an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  you  without  interruption. 

His  tone  pointed  the  allusion,  Mercy  shrank  from  looking  at 
him.  The  signs  of  painful  agitation  began  to  show  themselves  in 
her  shifting  color  and  her  uneasy  silence.  Roused  by  Julian’s  sig- 
nificantly distant  reference  to  what  had  passed  between  them,  her 
better  impulses  were  struggling  already  to  recover  their  influence 
over  her.  She  might,  at  that  critical  moment,  have  yielded  to  the 
promptings  of  her  own  nobler  nature—she  might  have  risen  supierior 
to  the  galling  remembrance  of  the  insults  that  had  been  heaped  upon 
her— if  Grace’s  malice  had  not  seen  in  her  hesitation  a means  of  re- 
ferring offensively  once  again  to  her  interview  with  Julian  Gray. 

“ Pray  don’t  think  twice  about  trusting  him  alone  with  me,”  she 
said,  with  a sardonic  affectation  of  politeness.  “ i am  not  interested 
in  making  a conquest  of  Mr.  Julian. Gray.” 

The  jealous  distrust  in  Horace  (already  awakened  by  Julian’s  re- 
quest) now  attempted  to  assert  itself  optnly.  Before  he  could 
speak,  Mercy’s  indignation  had  dictated  Mercy’s  answer. 

“lam  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Gray,”  she  said,  addressing 
Julian  (but  still  not  raising  her  eyes  to  his).  “ 1 have  nothing  more 
to  say.  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  trouble  you  again.” 

In  those  rash  words  she  recalled  the  confession  to  which  she  stood 
pledged.  In  those  rash  words  she  committed  herself  to  keeping  the 
position  that  she  had  usurped,  in  the  face  of  the  woman  whom  she 
had  deprived  of  it!  Horace  was  silenced,  but  not  satisfied.  He  saw 
Julian’s  eyes  fixed  in  sad  and  searching  attention  on  Mercy’s  face 
while  she  was  speaking.  He  heard  Julian  sigh  to  himself  when  she 
had  done.  He  observed  Julian — after  a moment’s  serious  consider- 
ation, and  a moment’s  glance  backward  at  the  stranger  in  the  poor 
black  clothes— lift  his  head  with  the  air  of  a man  who  had  taken  a 
sudden  revsolution. 

* “ Bring  me  that  card  directly,”  he  said  to  the  servant.  His  tone 
announced  that  be  was  not  to  be  trifled  with.  The  man  obeyed. 

Without  answering  Lady  Janet — who  still  peremptorily  insisted 
on  her  right  to  act  for  herself — Julian  took  the  pencil  from  his 
pocket-book  and  added  his  signature  to  the  writing  already  inscribed 
on  the  card.  When  he  hdd  handed  it  back  to  the  servant  he  made 
his  apologies  to  his  aunt. 

“ Pardon  me  for  venturing  to  interfere,”  he  said.  “ There  is  a 
serious  reason  for  what  I have  done,  which  I will  explain  to  you  at 
a later  time.  In  the  meanwhile  I offer  no  further  obstruction  to  the 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


137 


course  which  you  propose  faking.  On  the  contrary,  1 have  just 
assisted  you  in  gaining  the  end  that  you  have  in  view.'' 

As  he  said  that  he  held  up  the  pencil  with  which  he  had  signed 
his  name.  Lady  Janet,  naturally  perplexed,  and  (with  some  reason 
perhaps)  offended  as  well,  made  no  answer.  She  waved  her  hand 
to  the  servant,  and  sent  him  away  with  the  card.  There  was  silence 
in  the  room.  The  eyes  of  all  the  persons  present  turned  more  or  less 
anxiously  on  Julian.  Mercy  was  vaguely  surprised  and  alarmed. 
Horace,  like  Lady  Janet,  felt  offended,  without  clearly  knowing 
why.  Even  Grace  Roseberry  herself  was  subdued  by  her  own  pre- 
sentiment of  some  coming  interference  for  which  she  was  completely 
unprepared.  Julian's  words  and  actions,  from  the  moment  when  he 
had  written  on  the  card,  were  involved  in  a mystery  to  which  not 
one  of  the  persons  round  him  held  the  clew. 

The  motive  which  had  animated  his  conduct  may,  nevertheless, 
be  described  in  two  words  Julian  still  held  to  his  faith  in  the  inbred 
nobility  of  Mercy’s  nature.  He  had  inferred,  vrith  little  difficulty, 
from  the  language  which  Grace  had  used  toward  Mercy  in  his  pres- 
ence, that  the  injured  woman  must  have  taken  pitiless  advantage  of 
her  position  at  the  interview  which  he  had  interrupted.  Instead  of 
appealing  to  Mercy’s  sympathies  and  Mercy's  sense  of  right-r-instead 
of  accepting  the  expression  of  her  sincere  contrition,  and  encourag- 
ing her  to  make  the  completest  and  speediest  atonement— Grace  had 
evidently  outraged  and  insulted  her.  As  a necessary  result,  her 
endurance  had  given  way — under  her  own  sense  of  intolerable  severi- 
ty and  intolerable  wrong. 

The  remedy  for  the  mischief  thus  done  was,  as  Julian  had  first 
seen  it,  to  speak  privately  with  Grace,  to  soothe  her  by  owning  that 
his  opinion  of  the  justice  of  her  claims  had  undergone  a change  in 
her  favor,  and  then  to  persuade  her,  in  her  own  interests,  to  let  him 
carry  to  Mercy  such  expressions  of  apology  and  regret  as  might  lead 
to  a friendly  understanding  between  them.  With  those  motives,  he 
had  made  his  request  to  be  permitted  to  speak  separately  to  the  one 
and  the  other.  The  scene  that  had  followed,  the  new  insult  offered 
by  Grace,  and  the  answer  which  it  had  wrung  from  Mercy,  had 
convinced  him  that  no  such  interference  as  he  had  contemplated 
would  have  the  slightest  prospect  ot  success.  The  one  remedy  now 
left  to  try  was  the  desperate  remedy  of  letting  things  take  their 
course,  and  trusting  implicitly  to  Mercy’s  better  nature  for  the  re- 
sult. Let  her  see  the  police  offieer  in  plain  clothes  enter  the  room. 
Let  her  understand  clearly  what  the  result  of  his  interference  would 
be.  Let  her  confront  the  alternative  of  consigning  Grace  Roseberry 


138 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH, 


to  a mad-house  or  of  confessing  the  truth — and  what  would  happen? 
If  Julian's  confidence  in  her  was  a confidence  soundly  placed,  she 
would  nobly  pardon  the  outrage*  that  had  been  heaped  upon  her, 
and  she  would  do  justice  to  the  woman  whom  she  had  wronged. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  his  belief  in  her  was  nothing  better  than  the 
blind  belief  of  an  infatuated  man — if  she  faced  the  alternative  and 
persisted  in  asserting  her  assumed  identity — what  then?  Julian's 
faith  in  Mercy  refused  to  let  that  darker  side  of  the  question  find  a 
place  in  his  thoughts.  It  rested  entirely  with  him  to  bring  the  officer 
into  the  house.  He  had  prevented  Lady  Janet  from  making  any 
mischievous  use  of  his  card  by  sending  to  the  police  station  and 
warning  them  to  attend  to  no  message  which  they  might  receive  un- 
less the  card  produced  bore  his  signature.  Knowing  the  responsi- 
bility that  he  was  taking  on  himself — knowing  that  Mercy  had  made 
no  confession  to  him  to  which  it  was  possible  to  appeal— he  had 
signed  his  name  without  an  instant’s  hesitation;  and  there  he  stood 
now,  looking  at  the  woman  whose  better  nature  he  was  determined 
to  vindicate,  the  only  calm  person  in  the  room. 

Horace’s  jealousy  saw  something  suspiciously  suggestive  of  a 
private  understanding  in  Julian’s  earnest  attention  and  in  Mercy’s 
downcast  face.  Having  no  excuse  for  open  interference,  he  made 
an  effort  to  part  them.  “ You  spoke  just  now,”  he  said  to  Julian, 
“of  wishng  to  say  a word  in  private  to  that  person.”  (He  pointed 
to  Grace).  ” Shall  we  retire,  or  will  you  take  her  into  the  library?” 

” I refuse  to  have  anything  to  say  to  him,”  Grace  burst  out,  before 
Julian  could  answer.  ” 1 happen  to  know  that  he  is  the  last  person 
to  do  me  justice.  He  has  been  efiectiially  hoodwinked.  If  I speak  to 
anybody  privately,  it  ought  to  be  to  you.  You  have  the  greatest 
interest  of  any  of  them  in  finding  out  the  truth.” 

” What  do  you  mean?” 

” Do  you  want  to  marry  an  outcast  from  the  streets?” 

Horace  took  one  step  forward  toward  her.  There  was  a look  in  his 
face  which  plainly  betrayed  that  he  was  capable  of  turning  her  out 
of  the  house  with  his  own  hands.  Lady  Janet  stopped  him. 

” You  were  right  in  suggesting  just  now  that  Grace  had  better 
leave  the  room,”  she  said.  “Let  us  all  three  go.  J ulian  will  re- 
main here  and  give  the  man  his  directions  when  he  arrives.  Come.” 

No.  By  a strange  contradiction  it  w'as  Horace  himself  who  now 
interfered  to  prevent  Mercy  from  leaving  the  room.  In  the  heat 
of  his  indignation  he  lost  all  sense  of  his  own  dignity;  he  descended 
to  the  level  of  a woman  whose  intellect  he  believed  to  be  deranged. 
To  the  surprise  of  every  one  present,  he  stepped  back  and  took  from 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


139 


the  table  a jewel-case  which  he  had  placed  there  when  he  had  come 
into  the  room.  It  was  the  wedding  present  from  his  mother  which 
he  had  brought  to  his  betrothed  wife.  His  outraged  self-esteem 
seized  the  opportunity  of  vindicating  Mercy  by  a public  bestowal 
of  the  gift. 

“ Wait!’’  he  called  out  sternly.  That  wretch  shall  have  her 
answer.  She  has  sense  enough  to  see,  and  s^nse  enough  to  hear. 
Let  her  see  and  hear!” 

He  opened  the  jewel  case,  and  took  from  it  a magnificent  pearl 
necklace  in  an  antique  setting. 

‘‘  Grace,”  he  said,  with  his  highest  distinction  of  manner,  “ my 
mother  sends  you  her  love  and  her  congratulations  on  our  ap’ 
proaching  marriage.  She  begs  you  to  accept,  as  part  of  your  bridal 
dress,  these  pearls.  She  was  married  in  them  herself.  They  have 
been  in  our  family  for  centuries.  As  one  of  the  family,  honored 
and  beloved,  my  mother  offers  them  to  my  wife.” 

He  lifted  the  necklace  to  clasp  it  round  Mercy’s  neck. 

Julian  watched  her  in  breathless  suspense.  Would  she  sustain 
the  ordeal  through  which  Horace  had  innocently  condemned  her  to 
pass?  Yes!  In  the  insolent  presence  of  Grace  Roseberry,  what 
was  there  now  that  she  could  not  sustain  ? Her  pride  was  in  arms. 
Her  lovely  eyes  lighted  up  as  only  a woman’s  eyes  can  light  up 
when  they  see  jewelry.  Her  grand  head  bent  gracefully  to  receive 
the  necklace.  Her  face  warmed  into  color;  her  beauty  rallied  its 
charms.  Her  triumph  over  Grace  Roseberry  was  complete ! Julian’s 
head  sank.  For  one  sad  moment  he  secretly  asked  himself  the  ques^ 
tion,  ‘‘  Have  1 been  mistaken  in  her?”  Horace  arrayed  her  in  the 
pearls. 

” Your  husband  puts  these  pearls  on  your  neck,  love,”  he  said, 
proudly,  and  paused  to. look  at  her.  ” Now,”  he  added,  with  a con- 
temptuous backward  glance  at  Grace,  ” we  may  go  into  the  library. 
She  has  seen,  and  she  has  heard.  ” 

He  believed  that  he  had  silenced  her.  He  had  simply  furnished 
her  sharp  tongue  with  a new  sting. 

**  You  will  hear,  and  you  will  see,  when  my  proofs  come  from 
Canada,”  she  retor^d.  “ You  will  hear  that  your  wife  has  stolen 
my  name  and  my  character!  Yju  will  see  your  wife  dismissed 
from  this  house!” 

Mercy  turned  on  her  with  an  uncontrollable  outburst  of  passion. 

‘'You  are  mad!”  she  cried. 

Lady  Janet  caught  the  electric  infection  of  anger  in  the  air  of 
the  room.  She  too  turned  on  Grace.  She  too  said  it: 


140 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


“ You  are  mad!’* 

Horace  followed  Lady  Janet.  He  was  beside  himself.  He  fixecj 
his  pitiless  eyes  on  Grace,  and  echoed  the  contagious  words; 

“ You  are  mad!” 

She  was  silenced,  she  was  daunted  at  last.  The  treble  accusa- 
tion revealed  to  her,  for  the  first  time,  the  frightful  suspicion  to  which 
she  had  exposed  herself.  She  shrank  back,  with  a low  cry  of  horror, 
and  struck  against  a chair.  She  would  have  fallen  if  Julian  had  not 
sprung  forward  and  caught  her.  Lady  Janet  led  her  way  into  the 
library.  She  opened  the  door —started— and  suddenly  stepped  aside, 
so  as  to  leave  the  entrance  free. 

A man  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

He  was  not  a gentleman;  he  was  not  a workman;  he  was  not  a 
servant.  He  was  vilely  dressed,  in ‘glossy  black  broadcloth.  His 
f'rock-coat  hung  on  him  instead  of  fitting  him.  His  wa’st  coat  was 
too  short  and  too  light  over  the  chest.  His  trousers  were  a pair  of 
shapeless  black  bags.  His  gloves  were  too  large  for  him.  His 
highly  polished  boots  creaked  detestably  whenever  he  moved.  He 
had  odiously  watchful  eyes — eyes  that  looked  skilled  in  peeping 
through  key-holes.  His  large  ears,  set  forward  like  the  ears  of  a 
monkey,  pleaded  guilty  to  meanly  listening  behind  other  people’s 
doova.  His  manner  was  quietly  confidential  when  he  spoke,  im- 
penetrably self-possessed  when  he  was  silent.  A lurking  air  of 
secret  service  enveloped  the  fellow,  like  an  atmosphere  of  his  own, 
from  head  to  foot.  He  looked  all  round  the  magnificent  room 
without  betraying  either  surprise  or  admiration.  He  closely  inves- 
tigated every  person  in  it  with  one  glance  of  his  cunningly  watchful 
eyes.  Making  his  bow  to  Lady  Janet,  he  silently  showed  her,  as  his 
introduction,  the  card  that  had  summoned  him.  And  then  he  stood 
at  ease,  self -revealed  in  his  own  sinister  identity — a police  officer  in 
plain  clothes. 

Nobody  spoke  to  him.  Everybody  shrank  inwardly,  as  if  a reptile 
had  crawled  into  the  room. 

He  looked  backward  and  forward,  perfectly  unembarrassed,  be- 
tween Julian  and  Horace. 

“ Is  Mr.  Julian  Gray  here?”  he  asked. 

Julian  led  Grace  to  a seat.  H«:.r  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  man.  She 
trembled — she  whispered,  ” who  is  he?”  Julian  spoke  to  the  police 
officer  without  answering  her. 

‘‘Wait  there,”  he  said,  pointing  to  a chair  in  the  most  distant 
corner  of  the  room.  “ 1 will  speak  to  you  directly.” 

The  man  advanced  to  the  chair,  marching  to  the  discord  of  his 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


141 


creakiDg  boots.  He  privately  valued  the  carpet  at  so  much  a yard 
as  he  walked  over  it.  He  privately  valued  the  chair  at  so  much  the 
dozen  as  he  sat  down  on  it.  He  was  quite  at  his  ease:  it  was  no  mat- 
ter to  him  whether  he  waited  and  did  nothing,  or  whether  he  pried 
into  the  private  character  of  every  one  in  the  room,  as  tong  as  he 
was  paid  for  it.  Even  Lady  Janet’s  resolution  to  act  for  herself  w^as 
not  proof  against  the  appearance  of  the  policeman  in  plain  clothes. 
Hhe  left  it  to  her  nephew  to  take  the  lead.  Julian  glanced  at  Mercy 
before  he  stirred  further  in  the  matter.  He  alone  knew  that  the  end 
rested  now  not  with  him,  but  with  her.  She  felt  his  eye  on  her  while 
her  own  eyes  were  looking  at  the  man.  She  turned  her  head — hes- 
itated— and  suddenly  approached  Julian.  Like  Grace  Hoseberrj^ 
she  was  trembling.  Like  Grace  Koseberry,  she  whispered,  “ Who 
is  he?” 

J ulian  told  her  plainly  who  he  was. 

“ Why  is  he  here?” 

“ Can’t  you  guess?” 

“Ho.” 

Horace  left  Lady  Janet,  and  joined  Mercy  and  Julian — impatient 
of  the  private  colloquy  between  them. 

“ Am  I in  the  way?”  he  inquired. 

Julian  drew  back  a little,  understanding  Horace  perfectly.  He 
looked  round  at  Grace.  Nearly  the  whole  length  of  the  spacious 
room  divided  them  from  the  place  in  which  she  was  sitting.  She 
had  never  moved  since  he  had  placed  her  in  a chair.  The  direst  of 
all  terrors  was  in  possession  of  her— terror  of  the  unknown.  There 
was  no  fear  of  her  interfering,  and  no  fear  of  her  hearing  what  they 
said  so  long  as  they  were  careful  to  speak  in  guarded  tones.  Julian 
set  the  example  by  lowering  his  voice. 

**  Ask  Horace  why  the  police  officer  is  here?”  he  said  to  Mercy. 

She  put  the  question  directly.  “ Why  is  he  here?” 

Horace  looked  across  the  room  at  Grace  and  answered,  “ He  is 
here  to  relieve  us  of  that  woman.” 

“ Do  you  mean  that  he  will  take  her  away?” 

‘‘  Aes.” 

Where  will  he  take  her  to?” 

” To  the  police  station” 

Mercy  started,  and  looked  at  Julian.  He  was  still  watching  the 
slightest  changes  in  her  face.  She  looked  back  again  at  Horace. 

“ To  the  police  station!”  she  repeated.  ‘‘  What  for?” 

“ How  can  you  ask  the  question?”  said  Horace,  irritably.  **  To 
be  placed  under  restraint,  of  course,” 


142 


THE  NEW  MAGDALENTc 


I>o  you  mean  prison?'’  . 

" I mean  an  asylum.” 

Again  Mercy  turned  to  Julian.  There  was  horror  now,  as  well 
as  surprise,  in  her  face.  Oh!”  she  said  to  him,  “ Horace  is  surely 
wrong.  It  can't  he?” 

Julian  left  it  to  Horace  to  answer.  Every  faculty  in  him  seemed 
to  he  still  absorbed  in  watching  Mercy's  face.  She  was  compelled 
to  address  herself  to  Horace  once  more. 

‘‘  What  sort  of  asylum?”  she  asked.  “ You  don't  surely  mean  a 
madhouse?” 

“ I do,”  he  rejoined.  ” The  work-house  first,  perhaps — and  then 
the  mad-house.  What  is  there  to  surprise  you  in  that?  7ou  your- 
self told  her  to  her  face  she  was  mad.  Good  Heavens!  how  pale 
yeu  are!  What  is  the  matter?” 

She  turned  to  Julian  for  the  third  time.  The  terrible  alternative 
that  was  offered  to  her  had  showed  itself  at  last,  without  reserve  or 
disguise.  Restore  the  identity  that  you  have  stolen,  or  shut  her  up 
in  a mad -house— it  rests  with  you  to  choose!  In  that  form  the  situ- 
ation shaped  itself  in  her  mind.  She  chose  on  the  instant.  Before 
she  opened  her  lips  the  higher  nature  in  her  spoke  to  Julian,  in  her 
eyes.  The  steady  inner  light  that  he  had  seen  in  them  once  already 
shone  in  them  again,  brighter  and  purer  than  before.  The  con- 
science that  he  had  fortified,  the  soul  that  he  had  saved,  looked  at 
him,  and  said,  Doubt  us  no  more! 

‘‘  Send  that  man  out  of  the  house.” 

Those  were  her  first  words.  She  spoke  (pointing  to  the  police 
officer)  in  clear,  ringing,  resolute  tones,  audible  in  the  remotest 
corner  of  the  room. 

Julian's  hand  stole  unobserved  to  hers,  and  told  her,  in  its  momen- 
tary pressure,  to  count  on  his  brotherly  sympathy  and  help.  A! 
the  other  persons  in  the  room  looked  at  her  In  speechless  surprise. 
Grace  rose  from  her  chair.  Even  the  man  in  plain  clothes  started 
to  his  feet.  Lady  Janet  (hurriedly  joining  Horace  and  fully  sharing 
his  perplexity  and  alarm)  took  Mercy  impulsively  by  the  arm,  and 
shook  it,  as  if  to  rouse  her  to  a sense  of  what  she  was  doing.  Mercy 
held  firm;  Mercy  resolutely  repeated  what  she  had  said:  ” Send 
that  man  out  of  the  house.” 

Lady  Janet  lost  ail  patiene=o  her.  What  has  come  to 
your'’  she  asked,  sternly.  “Do  you  know  what  you  afo  scyr  ^ 
Tne  man  is  here  in  your  interest,  as  well  as  mine;  the  man  is  here 
to  spare  you,  as  well  as  me,  further  ‘mnoyance  and  insult.  And 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


143 


you  insist— insist,  in  my  presence— on  his  being  sent  awayl  What 
does  it  mean?’' 

You  shall  know  what  it  means,  Lady  Janet,  in,  half  an  hour.  I 
don’t  insist — I only  reiterate  my  entreaty.  Let  the  man  be  sent 
away!” 

Julian  stepped  aside  (with  his  aunt’s  eyes  angrily  following  him) 
and  spoEe  to  the  police  officer.  Go  back  to  the  station,”  he  said, 
“ and  wait  there  till  you  hear  from  me.” 

The  meanly  vigilant  eyes  of  the  man  in  plain  clothes  traveled 
sidelong  from  Julian  to  Mercy,  and  valued  her  beauty  as  they  had 
valued  the  carpet  and  chairs.  ” The  old  story,”  he  thought. 
‘‘The  nice-looking  woman  is  always  at  the  bottom  of  it;  and, 
sooner  or  later,  the  nice  looking  woman  has  her  way.  ” He  marched 
back  across  the  room,  to  the  discord  of  his  own  creaking  boots, 
bowed,  with  a villainous  smile  which  put  the  worst  construction 
on  everything,  and  vanished  through  the  library  door.  Lady  Janet’s 
high  breeding  restrained  her  from  saying  anything  until  the  police 
officer  was  out  of  hearing.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  she  appealed 
to  Julian. 

” I presume  you  are  in  the  secret  of  this?”  she  said.  ” 1 suppose 
you  have  some  reason  for  setting  my  authority  at  defiance  in  my 
own  house?” 

” I have  never  yet  failed  to  respect  your  ladyship,  ” Julian  an- 
swered. ” Before  long  you  will  know  that  I am  not  failing  in  re- 
spect toward  you  now.” 

Lady  Janet  looked  across  the  room.  Grace  was  listening  eagerly, 
conscious  that  events  had  taken  some  mysterious  turn  in  her  favor 
within  the  last  minute. 

” Is  it  part  of  your  new  arrangement  of  my  affairs,”  her  ladyship 
continued,  ” that  this  person  is  to  remain  in  the  house?” 

The  terror  that  had  daunted  Grace  had  not  lost  all  hold  of  her 
yet.  She  left  it  to  Julian  to  reply.  Before  he  could  speak  Mercy 
crossed  the  room  and  whispered  to  her,  ” Give  me  time  to  confess 
it  in  writing.  1 can’t  own  it  before  them — with  this  round  my 
neck.”  She  pointed  to  the  necklace,  Grace  cast  a threatening 
glance  at  her,  and  suddenly  looked  away  again  in  silence.  Mercy 
answered  Lady  Janet’s  question.  ” 1 beg  your  ladyship  to  permit 
her  to  remain  until  the  half  hour  is  over,”  she  said.  “ My  request 
will  have  explained  itself  by  that  time.” 

Lady  Janet  raised  no  further  obstacles.  Something  in  Mercy’s 
face,  or  in  Mercy’s  tone,  seemed  to  have  silenced  her,  as  it  had 
giienced  Grace.  Horace  was  the  next  who  spoke.  In  tones  of  sup- 


144 


THE  KEW  MAGHALEK. 


pressed  rage  and  suspicion  he  addressed  himself  to  Mercy,  standing 
fronting  him  by  Julian’s  side. 

Am  i included/'  he  asked,  “ in  the  arrangement  which  engages 
you  to  explain  your  extraordinary  conduct  in  half  an  hour?" 

Ms  hand  had  placed  his  mother’s  wedding  present  round  Mercy’s 
neck.  A sharp  pang  wrung  her  as  she  looked  at  Horace,  and  saw 
how  deeply  she  had  already  distressed  and  offended  him.  The 
tears  rose  in  her  eyes;  she  humbly  and  faintly  answered  him. 

“ If  you  please,”  was  all  she  could  say,  before  the  cruel  swelling 
at  her  heart  rose  and  silenced  her. 

Horace’s  sense  of  injury  refused  to  be  soothed  by  such  simple 
submission  as  this. 

“ 1 dislike  mysteries  and  innuendoes,”  he  went  on,  harshly.  “ In 
my  family  circle  we  are  accustomed  to  meet  each  other  frankly- 
Why  am  I to  wait  half  an  hour  for  an  explanation  which  might  be 
given  now?  What  am  I to  wait  for?” 

Lady  Janet  recovered  herself  as  Horace  spoke. 

“1  entirely  agree  with  you,”  she  said.  ”I  ask,  too,  what  we 
are  to  wait  for?” 

Even  Julian’s  self-possession  failed  him  when  his  aunt  repeated 
that  cruelly  plain  Question.  How  would  Mercy  answer  it?  Would 
her  courage  still  hold  out? 

You  haveaskd  me  what  you  are  to  wait  for,”  she  said  to  Horace 
quietly  and  firmly.  ” Wait  to  hear  something  more  of  Mercy 
Merrick.”  Lady  Janet  listened  with  a look  of  weary  disgust. 

“Don’t  return  to  that!'"  she  said.  ^ “We  know  enough  about 
Mercy  Merrick  already.” 

“ Pardon  me— your  ladyship  does  not  know.  I am  the  only 
person  who  can  inform  you.” 

“You?”  She  bent  her  head  respectfully. 

“ I have  begged  you,  Lady  Janet,  to  give  me  half  an  hour,”  she 
went  on.  “ In  half  an  hour  I solemn  engage  myself  to  produce 
Mercy  Merrick  in  this  room.  Lady  Janet  Roy,  Mr.  Horace  Holm- 
croft,  you  are  to  wait  for  that.” 

Steadily  pledging  herself  in  these  terms  to  make  her  confession, 
she  unclasped  the  pearls  from  her  neck,  put  them  away  in  their  case, 
and  placed  it  in  Horace’s  hand.  “Keep  it,”  she  said,  with  a 
momentary  faltering  in  her  voice,  “ until  we  meet  again,” 

Horace  took  the  case  in  silence;  he  looked  and  acted  like  a man 
whose  mind  was  paralyzed  by  surprise.  His  hand  moved  mechan- 
ically. His  eyes  followed  Mercy  with  a vacant,  questioning  look. 
Lady  Janet  seemed,  in  her  differeni  way,  to  share  the  strange  0{»* 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


145 


p»i'ession  that  had  fallen  on  him.  A vague  sense  of  dread  and  dis- 
tress hung  like  a cloud  over  her  mind.  At  that  memorable  moment 
she  felt  her  age,  she  looked  her  age,  as  she  had  never  felt  or  looked 
it  yet. 

Have  I your  ladyship’s  leave,”  said  Mercy  respectfully,  to  go 
to  my  room?” 

Lady  Janet  mutely  granted  the  reqiiest.  Mercy’s  last  look,  before 
she  went  out,  was  a look  at  Grace.  ” Are  you  satisfied  now?”  the 
grand  gray  eyes  seemed  to  say,  mournfully.  Grace  turned  her  head 
aside,  with  a quick,  petulant  action.  Even  her  narrow  hature 
opened  for  a moment  unwillingly,  and  let  pity  in  a little  way,  in 
spite  of  V itself. 

Mercy's  parting  words  recommended  Grace  to  Julian’s  care: 

''You  will  see  that  she  ia  allowed  a room  to  wait  in?  You  will 
Vvarn  her  yourself  when  the  half  hour  has  expired?” 

Julian  opened  I he  library  door  for  her. 

Well  done!  Nobly  done!”  he  whispered.  “ All  my  sympathy 
is  with  you— all  my  help  is  yours.” 

Her  eyes  looked  at  him,  and  thanked  him,  through  her  gathering 
tears.  His  own  eyes  were  dimmed.  She  passed  quietly  down  the 
room,  and  was  lost  to  him  before  he  had  shut  the  door  again. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE  FOOTSTEP  IN  THE  CORRIDOR. 

Mercy  was  alone.  She  had  secured  one  half  hour  of  retirement  ia 
her  own  room,  designing  to  devote  that  interval  to  the  writing  of 
her  confession,  in  the  form  of  a letter  addressed  to  Julian  Gray. 

No  recent  change  in  her  position  had,  as  yet,  mitigated  her 
horror  of  acknowledging  to  Horace  and  to  Lady  Janet  that  she 
had  won  her  way  to  their  hearts  in  disguise.  Through  Julian  only 
could  she  say  the  words  which  were  to  establish  Grace  Roseberry 
in  her  right  position  in  the  house. 

How  was  her  confession  to  be  addressed  to  him?  In  writing? 
or  by  word  of  mouth?  After  all  that  had  happened,  from  the  time 
when  Lady  Janet’s  appearance  had  interrupted  them,  she  would 
have  felt  relief  rather  than  embarrassment  in  personally  opening 
her  heart  to  a man  who  had  so  delicately  understood  her,  who  had 
so  faithfuly  befriended  her  in  her  sorest  need.  But  the  repeated 
betrayals  of  Horace’s  jealous  suspicion  of  Julian  warned  her  that, 
she  would  only  be  surrounding  herself  with  new  difficulties,  and  be 


146 


THE  MAGEALEN", 


placing  Julian  in  a position  of  painful  embarrassment,  if  she  ad 
mitted  him  to  a private  interview  while  Horace  was  in  the  house. 

The  one  course  left  to  take  was  the  course  that  she  had  adopted. 
Determining  to  address  the  narrative  of  the  Fraud  to  Julian,  in  the 
form  of  a letter,  she  arranged  to  add,  at  the  close,  certain  instruc- 
tions, pointing  out  to  him  the  line  of  conduct  which  she  wished 
him  to  pursue. 

These  instructions  contemplated  the  communication  of  her  letter 
to  Lady  Janet  and  to  Horace  in  the  library,  while  Mere}"— self-con- 
fessed as  the  missing  woman  whom  s^ihe  had  pledged  herself  to  pro- 
duce— awaited  in  the  adjoining  room  w^hatever  sentence  it  pleased 
them  to  pronounce  on  her.  Her  resolution  not  to  screen  herself  be 
hind  Julian  from  any  consequences  which  might  follow  the  confes- 
sion had  taken  root  in  her  mind  from  the  moment  when  Horace  had 
harshly  asked  her  (and  when  Lady  Janet  had  joined  him  in  asking) 
why  she  delayed  her  explanation,  and  what  she  was  keeping  them 
waiting  for.  Out  of  the  very  pain  which  those  questions  inflicted, 
the  idea  of  waiting  her  sentence  in  her  own  person  in  one  room, 
while  her  letter  to  Julian  was  speaking  for  her  in  another,  had  sprung 
into  life.  “ Let  them  break  my  heart  if  they  like,”  she  had  thought 
to  herself,  in  the  self-abasement  of  that  bitter  moment;  “ it  will  be 
no  more  than  1 have  deserved.  ” 

She  locked  her  door  and  opened  her  writing-desk.  Knowing 
what  she  had  to  do,  she  tried  to  collect  herself  and  do  it. 

The  effort  was  in  vain.  Those  persons  who  study  writing  as  an 
art  are  probably  the  only  persons  who  can  measure  tlie  vast  distance 
which  separates  a conception  as  it  exists  in  the  mind  from  the  re- 
duction of  that  conception  to  form  and  shape  in  words.  The  heavy 
stress  of  agitation  that  had  been  laid  on  Mercy  for  hours  together 
had  utterly  unfitted  her  for  the  delicate  and  difficult  process  of  arrang- 
ing the  events  of  a narrative  in  their  due  sequence  and  their  due  pro- 
portion toward  each  other.  Again  and  again  she  tried  to  begin  her 
letter,  and  again  and  again  slie  was  baffled  by  (he  saree  hopeless 
confusion  of  ideas.  She  gave  up  the  struggle  in  despair. 

A sense  of  sinking  at  her  heart,  a weight  of  hysterical  oppression 
on  her  bosom,  warned  her  not  to  leave  herself  unoccupied,  a prey  to 
morbid  self-investigation  and  imaginary  alarms.  She  turned  in- 
stinctively, for  a temporary  employment  of  some  kind,  to  the  con- 
sideration of  her  own  future.  Here  there  were  no  intricacies  or  en- 
tanglements. The  prospect  began  and  ended  with  her  return  to  the 
Refuge,  if  the  matron  would  reef  ivc  her.  She  did  no  injustice  lu 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


147 


Julian  Gray;  that  great  heart  would  feel  for  her,  that  kind  hand 
would  be  held  out  to  her,  she  knew.  But  what  would  happen  if  she 
thoughtlessly  accepted  all  that  his  sympathy  might  offer?  Scandal 
would  point  to  her  beauty  and  to  liis  youth,  and  would  jdace  its 
own  vile  interpretation  on  the  purest  friendship  that  could  exist 
between  them.  And  Tie  would  be  the  sufferer,  for  Tie  had  a charac- 
ter— a clergyman’s  character — to  lose.  No.  For  his  sake,  out  of 
gratitude  to  him,  the  farewell  to  Mable  thorps  House  must  be  also  the 
farewell  to  Julian  Gray. 

The  precious  minutes  were  passing.  She  resolved  to  write  to  the 
matron  and  ask  if  she  might  hope  to  be  forgiven  and  employed  at  the 
Kefuge  a^ain.  Occupation  over  the  letter  that  was  easy  to  write 
might  have  its  fortifying  effect  on  her  mind,  and  might  pave  the 
way  for  resuming  the  letter  that  was  hard  to  write.  She  waited  a 
moment  at  the  window,  thinking  of  the  past  life  to  which  she  was 
soon  to  return,  before  she  took  up  the  pen  again.  Her  window 
looked  eastward.  The  dusky  glare  of  lighted  London  met  her  as  her 
eyes  rested  on  the  sky.  It  seemed  to  beckon  her  back  to  the  horror 
of  the  cruel  streets—to  point  her  way  mockingly  to  the  bridges  over 
the  black  river— to  lure  her  to  the  top  of  the  parapet,  and  the  dread- 
ful leap  into  God’s  arms,  or  into  annihilation — who  knew  which? 
She  turned,  shuddering,  from  the  window.  “ Will  it  end  in  that 
way,”  she  asked  herself,  “ if  the  matron  says  No?”  She  began  her 
letter. 

” Hear  Madam, — So  long  a time  has  passed  since  you  heard 
from  me  that  I almost  shrink  from  writing  to  you.  I am  afraid  you 
have  already  given  me  up  in  your  own  mind  as  a hard-hearted,  un- 
grateful woman. 

1 have  been  leading  a false  life;  1 have  not  been  fit  to  write  to 
you  before  to-day.  Now,  when  i am  doing  what  1 can  to  atone  to 
those  whom  I have  injured — now,  when  I repent  with  my  whole 
heart— may  1 ask  leave  to  return  to  the  friend  who  has  borne  with 
me  and  helped  me  through  many  miserable  years?  Oh,  madam,  do 
not  cast  me  off ! I have  no  one  to  turn  to  bat  you. 

“ Will  you  let  me  own  everything  to  you?  Will  you  forgive  me 
when  you  know  what  1 have  done?  Will  you  take  me  back  into  the 
Refuge,  if  you  have  any  employment  for  me  by  which  I may  earn 
my  shelter  and  my  bread? 

‘‘  Before  the  night  comes  I must  leave  the  house  from  which  1 am 
now  writing.  I have  nowhere  to  go  to.  The  little  money,  the  few 
valuable  possessions  1 have,  must  be  left  behind  me:  they  have  been 
obtained  under  false  pretenses : they  are  not  mine.  No  more  forlorn 
creature  than  I am  lives  at  this  moment.  You  are  a Christian 
woman.  Not  for  my  sake — for  Christ’s  sake — pity  me  and  take  me 
back. 

“ I am  a good  nurse,  as  you  know,  and  I am  a quick  worker  with 


Tffh;  JNKW  MAGDALfini^. 


14^ 

my  needle.  In  one  way  or  the  other  can  you  not  find  occupation 
for  me? 

“ I could  also  teach,  in  a very  unpretending  \fay.  But  that  is  use* 
less.  Who  would  truit  their  children  to  a woman  without  a charac- 
ter? There  is  no  hope  for  me  in  this  direction.  And  yet  1 am  so 
fond  of  children!  I think  1 could  be,  not  happy  again,  perhaps, 
but  content  with  my  lot,  if  I could  be  associated  with  them  in  some 
way.  Are  there  not  charitable  societies  which  are  trying  to  help 
and  protect  destitute  children  wandering  about  the  streets?  I think 
of  my  own  wretched  childhood— and  oh!  I should  so  like  to  be  em- 
ployed in  saving  other  children  from  ending  as  I have  ended.  I 
could  work,  for  such  an  object  as  that,  from  morning  to  night,  and 
never  feel  weary.  All  my  heart  would  be  in  it;  and  1 should  have 
this  advantage  over  happy  and  prosperous  women— 1 should  have 
nothing  else  to  think  of.  Surely  they  might  trust  me  with  the  poor 
little  starving  wanderers  of  the  streets— if  you  said  a word  for  me? 
If  I am  asking  too  much,  please  forgive  me.  I am  so  wretched, 
madam — so  lonely  and  so  weary  of  my  life. 

“There  is  only  one  thing  more.  My  time  here  is  very  short. 
Will  you  please  reply  to  this  letter  (to  say  yes  or  no)  by  telegram? 

“ The  name  by  which  you  know  me  is  not  the  name  by  which  I 
have  been  known  here.  I must  beg  you  to  address  the  telearam  to  ‘ The 
Keverend  Julian  Gray,  Mablethorpe  House,  Kensington.’  He  is 
here,  and  he  will  show  it  to  me.  No  words  of  mine  can  describe 
what  I owe  to  him.  He  has  never  despaired  of  me — he  has  saved 
me  from  myself.  God  bless  and  reward  the  kindest,  truest,  best 
man  1 have  ever  known! 

“ I have  no  more  to  say,  except  to  ask  you  to  excuse  this  long  let- 
ter, and  to  believe  me  your  grateful  servant,  

She  signed  and  inclosed  the  letter,  and  wrote  the  address.  Then, 
for  the  first  time,  a.n  obstacle  which  she  ought  to  have  seen  before 
showed  itself,  standing  straight  in  her  way.  There  was  no  time  to 
forward  her  letter  in  the  ordinary  manner  by  post.  It  must  be  taken 
to  its  destination  by  a private  messenger.  Lady  Janet’s  servants  had 
hitherto  been,  one  and  all,  at  her  disposal.  Could  she  presume  to 
employ  them  on  her  own  affairs,  when  she  might  be  dismissed  from 
the  house,  a disgraced  woman,  in  half  an  hour’s  time?  Of  the  two 
alternatives  it  seemed  better  to  take  her  chance,  and  present  herself 
at  the  Refuge  without  asking  leave  first.  While  she  was  still  con- 
sidering the  question  she  was  startled  by  a knock  at  her  door.  Ckn 
opening  it  she  admitted  Lady  Janet’s  maid,  with  a morsel  of  folded 
note-paper  in  her  hand. 

‘From  my  lady,  miss,”  said  the  woman,  giving  her  the  note. 
“ There  is  no  answer.” . 

Meicy  stopped  her  a«  she  was  about  to  leave  the  room.  The  ap- 
pearance of  the  maid  suggested  an  inquiry  to  her.  She  asked  if  aiij 
of  the  servants  were  likely  to  be  going  into  town  that  afternoon. 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


149 


Yes,  miss.  One  of  tbe  grooms  is  going  on  horseback,  with  a 
message  to  her  ladyship’s  coach-maker.” 

The  Refuge  was  close  by  the  coach-maker’s  place  of  business. 
Under  the  circumstances,  Mercy  was  emboldened  to  make  use  of  the 
man.  It  was  a pardonable  liberty  to  emploj^  his  services  now. 

“ Will  you  kindly  give  the  groom  that  letter  for  me?”  she  said, 
“ It  will  not  take  him  out  of  his  way.  He  has  only  to  deliver  it-— 
nothing  more.” 

The  woman  willingly  complied  with  the  request.  Left  once  more 
by  herself  Mercy  looked  at  the  little  note  which  had  been  placed  in 
her  hands.  It  was  the  first  lime  that  her  benefactress  had  employed 
this  formal  method  of  communicating  with  her  when  they  were  both 
in  the  house.  What  did  such  a departure  from  established  habits 
mean?  Had  she  received  her  notice  of  dismissal?  Had  Lady  Janet’s 
quick  intellig(  nee  found  its  way  already  to  a suspicion  of  the  truth  ? 
Mercy’s  nerves  were  unstrung.  She  trembled  pitiably  as  she  opened 
the  folded  note.  It  began  without  a form  of  address,  and  it  ended 
without  a signature.  Thus  it  ran: 

“I  must  request  you  to  delay  for  a little  while  the  explanation 
which  you  have  promised  me.  At  my  age,  painful  surprises  are 
very  trying  things.  I must  have  ti  me  to  compose  myself,  before  I can 
hear  what  you  have  to  say.  You  shall  not  be  kept  waiting  longer 
than  I can  help.  In  the  meanwhile  everything  will  go  on  as  usual. 
My  nephew  Julian,  and  Horace  Holmcroft,  and  the  lady  whom  I 
found  in  the  dining-room  will,  by  my  desire,  remain  in  the  house 
until  I am  able  to  meet  them,  and  to  meet  you  again.”' 

There  the  note  ended.  To  what  concusion  did  it  point?  Had 
Lady  Janet  really  guessed  the  truth?  or  had  she  only  surmised  that 
her  adopted  daughter  was  connected  in  some  discrelitable  manner 
with  the  mystery  of  ” Mercy  Merrick?”  The  line  in  which  she 
referred  to  the  intruder  in  the  dining-room  as  “ the  lady  ” showed 
very  remarkably  that  her  opinions  had  undergone  a change  in  that 
quarter.  But  was  the  phrase  enough  of  itself  to  justify  the  infer- 
ence that  she  had  actually  anticipated  the  nature  of  Mercy’s  confes- 
sion? It  was  not  easy  to  decide  that  doubt  at  the  moment — and  it 
proved  to  be  equally  difficult  to  throw  any  light  on  it  at  an  after' 
time.  To  the  end  of  her  life  Lady  Janet  resolutely  refused  to  com- 
municate to  any  one  the  conclusions  which  she  might  have  pri- 
vately formed,  the  griefs  which  she  might  have  secretly  stifled,  on 
that  memorable  day.  Amidst,  much,  however,  which  was  beset 
with  uncertainty,  one  thing  at  least  was  clear.  The  time  at  Mercy’s 
disposal  in  her  own  room  }|a,d  been  indefinitely  prolonged  by 
Mercy’s  benefactress.  Hours  might  pass  before  the  disclosure  to 


^0 


THE  KEW  MAGBALElsr^ 


which  she  stood  committed  would  be  expected  from  her.  In  those 
hours  she  might  surely  compose  her  mind  sufficiently  to  be  able  to 
write  her  letter  of  confession  to  Julian  Gray.  Once  more  she  placed 
the  sheet  of  paper  before  her.  Eesting  her  head  on  her  hand  as  she 
sat  at  the  table,  she  tried  to  trace  her  way  through  the  labyrinth  of 
the  past,  beginning  with  the  day  when  she  had  met  Grace  Hose- 
berry  in  the  French  cottage,  and  ending  with  the  day  which  hii6 
brought  them  face  to  face,  for  the  second  time,  in  the  dining  room> 
at  Mablethorpe  House.  The  chain  of  events  began  to  unroll  itself 
in  her  mind  clearly,  link  by  link. 

She  remarked,  as  she  pursued  the  retrospect,  how  strangely 
Chance,  or  Fate,  had  paved  the  way  for  the  act  of  personation,  id 
the  first  place.  If  they  had  met  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
neither  Mercy  nor  Grace  would  have  trusted  each  other  with  the 
confidences  which  had  been  exchanged  between  them.  As  the 
event  had  happened,  they  had  come  together,  under  those  extraor- 
dinary circumstances  of  common  trial  and  common  peril,  in  a strange 
country,  which  would  especially  predispose  two  women  of  the  same 
nation  to  open  their  hearts  to  each  other.  In  no  other  way  could 
Mercy  have  obtained  at  a first  interview  that  fatal  knowledge  of 
Grace’s  position  and  Grace’s  affairs  which  had  placed  temptation 
before  her,  as  the  necessary  consequence  that  followed  the  bursting 
of  the  German  shell. 

Advancing  fiom  this  point  through  the  succeeding  series  of 
events  which  had  so  naturally  and  yet  so  strangely  favored  the  per- 
petration of  the  fraud,  Mercy  reached  the  latter  period  when  Grace 
had  followed  her  to  England.  Here  again  she  remarked,  in  the 
second  place,  how  Chance,  or  Fate,  had  once  more  paved  the  way 
for  that  second  meeting  which  had  confronted  them  with  one  an- 
other at  Mablethorpe  House. 

She  had,  as  she  well  remembered,  attended  at  a certain  assembly 
(convened  by  a charitable  society)  in  the  character  of  Lady  Janet’s 
representative,  at  Lady  Janet’s  own  request.  For  that  reason  she 
had  been  absent  from  the  house  when  Grace  had  entered  it.  If  her 
return  had  been  delayed  by  a few  minutes  only,  Julian  would  have 
had  time  to  take  Grace  out  of  the  room,  and  the  terrible  meeting 
which  had  stretched  Mercy  senseless  on  the  floor  would  never  have 
taken  place.  Ai  the  event  had  happened,  the  period  of  her  absence 
had  been  fatally  shortened  by  what  appeared  at  the  time  to  be  the 
commonest  possible  occurrence.  The  persons  assembled  at  the  so- 
ciety’s  rooms  had  disagreed  so  seriously  on  the  business  which  had 
brought  them  together  as  to  render  it  necessary  to  take  the  ordinary 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK, 


151 


course  of  adjourning  the  proceedings  to  a future  day.  And  Chance, 
or  Fate,  had  so  timed  that  adjournment  as  to  bring  Mercy  back  into 
the  dining-room  exactly  at  the  moment  when  Grace  Koseberry  i»* 
sisted  on  being  confronted  with  the  woman  who  had  taken  her 
place. 

She  had  never  yet  seen  the  ciro<imstance8  in  this  sinister  light. 
She  was  alone  in  her  room,  at  a crisis  in  her  life.  She  was  worn 
and  weakened  by  emotions  which  had  shaken  her  to  the  soul.  Little 
by  little  she  felt  the  enervating  influences  let  loose  on  her,  in  her 
lonely  position,  by  her  new  train  of  thought.  Little  by  little  her 
heart  began  to  sink  under  the  stealthy  chill  of  superstitious  dread. 
Vaguely  horrible  presentiments  throbbed  in  her  with  her  pulses, 
flowed  through  her  with  her  blood.  Mystic  oppressions  of  hidden 
disaster  hovered  over  her  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  room.  The  cheer- 
ful candle-light  turned  traitor  to  her  and  grew  dim.  Supernatural 
murmurs  trembled  round  the  house  in  the  moaning  of  the  winter 
wind.  She  was  afraid  to  look  behind  her.  On  a sudden  she  felt  her 
own  cold  hands  covering  her  face,  Without  knowing  when  she  had 
lifted  them  to  it,  or  why. 

Still  helpless  under  the  horror  that  held  her,  she  suddenly  heard 
footsteps — a man's  footsteps — in  the  corridor  outside.  At  other 
times  the  sound  would  have  stafrtled  her:  now  it  broke  the  spell. 
The  footsteps  suggested  life,  companionship,  human  interposition- 
no  matter  of  what  sort.  She  mechanically  took  up  her  pen;  she 
found  herself  beginning  to  remember  her  letter  to  Julian  Gray.  At 
the  same  moment  the  footsteps  stopped  outside  her  door.  The  man 
knocked. 

She  still  felt  shaken.  She  was  hardly  mistress  of  herself  yet.  A 
faint  cry  af  alarm  escaped  her  at  the  sound  of  the  knock.  Before  it 
could  be  repeated  she  had  rallied  her  courage,  and  had  opened  the 
door.  The  man  in  the  corridor  was  Horace  Holmcroft. 

His  ruddy  complexion  had  turned  pale.  His  hair  (of  which  he 
was  especially  careful  at  other  times)  was  in  disorder.  The  Buper- 
ficial  polish  of  his  manner  was  gone;  the  undisguised  man,  sullen, 
distrustful,  irritated  to  the  last  degree  of  endurance,  showed 
through.  He  looked  at  her  with  a watchfully  suspicious  eye;  he 
spoke  to  her,  without  preface  or  apology,  in  a coldly  angry  voice. 

**  Are  you  aware,"  he  asked,  " of  what  is  going  on  down  stairs?" 

“ I have  not  left  my  room,"  she  answered.  1 know  that  Lady 
Janet  has  deferred  the  explanation  which  I had  promised  to  give  her, 
and  I know  no  more." 

Has  nobody  told  you  what  Lady  Janet  did  after  you  left  us? 


152 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


Has  Dobody  told  you  that  she  politely  placed  her  own  boudoir  at 
the  disposal  of  the  very  woman  whom  she  had  ordered  half  an  hour 
before  to  leave  the  house?  Do  you  really  not  know  that  Mr.  Julian 
Gray  has  himself  conducted  this  suddenly  honored  guest  to  her 
place  of  retirement?  and  that  I am  left  alone  in  the  midst  of  these 
changes,  contradictions,  and  mysteries— the  only  person  who  is 
kept  out  in  the  dark.’’ 

“ It  is  surely  needless  to  ask  me  these  questions,”  said  Mercy,  gen- 
tly. ” Who  could  possibly  have  told  me  what  was  going  on  below 
stairs  before  you  knocked  at  my  door?”  He  looked  at  her  with  an 
ironical  affectation  of  surprise. 

“You  are  strangely  forgetful  to-day,”  he  said.  Surely  your 
friend  Mr.  Julian  Gray  might  have  told  you?  I am  astonished  to 
hear  that  he  has  not  had  his  private  interview  yet.” 

1 don’t  understand  you,  Horace.” 

“I  don’t  want  you  to  understand  me,”  he  retorted,  irritably. 
“ The  proper  person  to  understand  me  is  Julian  Gray.  I look  to 
him  to  account  to  me  ror  the  confidential  relations  which  seem  to 
have  been  established  between  you  behind  my  back.  He  has 
avoided  me  thus  far,  but  I shall  find  my  way  to  him  yet.” 

His  manner  threatened  more  than  his  words  expressed.  In 
Mercy’s  nervous  condition  at  the  moment,  it  suggested  to  her  that 
he  might  attempt  to  fasten  a quarrel  on  Julian  Gray. 

“ Tou  are  entirely  mistaken,”  she  said,  warmly.  ‘‘  You  are  un- 
gratefully doubting  your  best  and  truest  friend.  I say  nothing  of 
myself.  You  will  soon  discover  why  1 patiently  submit  to  suspi- 
cions which  other  women  would  resent  as  an  insult.” 

“ Let  me  discover  it  at  once.  Now!  Without  wasting  a moment 
morel” 

There  had  hitherto  been  some  little  distance  between  them.  Mercy 
had  listened,  waiting  on  the  threshold  of  her  door;  Horace  had 
spoken,  standing  against  the  opposite  wall  of  the  corridor.  When 
he  said  his  last  words  he  suddenly  stepped  forward,  and  (with  some- 
thing imperative  in  the  gesture)  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm.  The 
strong  grasp  of  it  almost  hurt  her.  She  struggled  to  release  herself. 

“Let  me  go!”  she  said,  “What  do  you  mean?”  He  dropped 
her  arm  as  suddenly  as  ho  had  taken  it. 

“You  shall  know  what  I mean,”  he  replied.  “ A woman  who 
has  grossly  outraged  and  insulted  you — whose  only  excuse  is  that 
she  is  mad — is  detained  in  the  house  at  your  desire,  1 might  almost 
say  at  your  command,  when  the  police  officer  is  waiting  to  take  her 
away.  I have  a right  to  know  what  this  means.  I am  engaged  to 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK, 


153 


many  If  you  wou’t  trust  other  people,  you  are  bouud  to  ex- 

plain yourself  to  Me.  I refuse  to  wait  for  Lady  Janet’s  conven- 
ience. I insist  (if  you  force  me  to  say  so)— I insist  on  knowing  the 
real  connection  with  this  affair.  You  have  obliged  me  to  follow  you 
here;  it  is  my  only  opportunity  of  speaking  to  you.  You  avoid 
me;  you  shut  yourself  up  from  me  in  your  own  room.  I am  not  your 
husband  yet — I have  no  right  to  follow  you  in.  But  there  are  other 
rooms  open  to  us.  The  library  is  at  our  disposal,  and  I will  take 
care  that  we  are  not  interrupted.  I am  now  going  there,  and  I have 
a last  question  to  ask.  You  are  to  be  my  fvife  in  a week’s  time; 
will  you  take  me  into  your  confidence  or  not?” 

To  hesitate  was,  in  this  case,  literally  to  be  lost.  Mercy’s  sense 
of  justice  told  her  that  Horace  had  claimed  no  more  than  his  due. 
She  answered  instantly: 

” I will  follow  you  to  the  library,  Horace,  in  five  minutes.” 

Her  prompt  and  frank  compliance  with  his  wishes  surprised  and 
touched  him.  He  took  her  hand.  She  had  endured  all  that  his 
angry  sense  of  injury  could  say.  His  gratitude  wounded  her  to  the 
quick.  The  bitterest  moment  she  had  felt  yet  was  the  moment  in 
which  he  raised  her  liand  to  his  lips,  and  murmured  tenderly^  “ My 
own  true  Grace!”  She  could  only  sign  to  him  to  leave  her,  and 
hurry  back  to  her  own  room. 

Her  first  feeling,  when  she  found  herself  alone  again,  was  wonder 
— wonder  that  it  should  never  have  occurred  to  her,  until  he  had 
himself  suggested  it,  that  her  betrothed  husband  had  the  foremost 
right  to  her  confession.  Her  horror  at  owning  to  either  of  them  that 
she  had  cheated  them  out  of  their  love  had  hitherto  placed  Horace 
and  Lady  Janet  on  the  same  level.  She  now  sav;  for  the  first  time 
that  there  was  no  comparison  between  the  claims  which  they  respect- 
ively had  on  her.  She  owed  an  allegiance  to  Horace  to  which  Lady 
Janet  could  assert  no  right.  Cost  her  what  it  might  to  avow  the 
truth  to  him  with  her  own  lips,  the  cruel  sacrifice  must  be  made. 

Without  a moment’s  hesitation  she  put  away  her  writing  mate- 
rials. It  amazed  her  that  she  should  ever  have  thought  of  using 
Julian  Gray  as  an  interpreter  between  the  man  to  whom  she  was  be- 
trothed and  herself.  Julian’s  sympathy  (she  thought)  must  have 
made  a strong  impression  on  her  indeed  to  blind  her  to  a duty  which 
was  beyond  all  compromise,  which  admitted  of  no  dispute! 

She  had  asked  for  five  minutes  of  delay  before  she  followed  Hor- 
ace. It  was  too  long  a time.  Her  one  chance  of  finding  courage  to 
crush  him  with  the  dreadful  revelation  of  who  she  really  was,  and 
of  what  she  really  had  done,  was  to  plunge  headlong  into  the  dis- 


154 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN- 


closure  without  giving  herself  time  to  think.  The  shame  of  it  would 
overpower  her  if  she  gave  herself  time  to  think.  She  turned  to  the 
door  to  follow  him  at  once. 

Even  at  that  terrible  moment  the  most  ineradicable  of  all  woman’s 
instincts— the  instinct  of  personal  self-respect— brought  her  to  a 
pause.  She  had  passed  through  more  than  one  terrible  trial  since 
she  had  dressed  to  go  do^vn  stairs.  Remembering  this,  she  stopped 
mechanically,  retraced  lier  steps,  and  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass. 

There  was  no  motive  of  vanity  in  what  she  now  did.  The  action 
^ was  as  unconscious  as  if  she  had  buttoned  an  unfastened  glove,  or 
shaken  out  a crumpled  dress.  Not  the  faintest  idea  crossed  her 
mind  of  looking  to  see  if  her  beauty  might  still  plead  for  her,  and  of 
trying  to  set  it  off  at  its  best.  A momentary  smile,  the  most  weary, 
the  most  hopeless,  that  ever  saddened  a woman’s  face,  appeared  in 
the  reflection  which  her  mirror  gave  her  back.  “ Haggard,  ghastly, 
old  before  my  time!”  she  said  to  herself.  ‘'Well!  better  so.  He 
will  feel  it  less— he  will  not  regret  me.”  With  that  thought  she 
went  down  stairs  to  meet  him  in  the  library. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  DINING-KOOM. 

In  the  great  emergencies  of  life  we  feel,  or  we  act,  as  our  disposi- 
tions incline  us.  But  we  never  think.  Mercy’s  mind  was  a blank 
as  she  descended  the  stairs.  On  her  way  down  she  was  conscious 
of  nothing  but  the  one  headlong  impulse  to  get  to  the  library  in  the 
shortest  possible  space  of  time.  Arrived  at  the  door,  the  impulse 
capriciously  left  her.  She  stopped  on  the  mat,  wondering  why  she 
bad  hurried  herself,  with  time  to  spare.  Her  heart  sank ; the  fever 
of  her  excitement  changed  suddenly  to  a chill  as  she  faced  the  closed 
door,  and  asked  herself  the  question.  Dare  I go  in? 

Her  own  hand  answered  her.  She  lifted  it  to  turn  the  handle  of 
the  lock.  It  dropped  again  helplessly  at  her  side.  The  sense  of  her 
own  irresolution  wrung  from  her  a low  exclamation  of  despair. 
Faint  as  it  was,  it  had  apparently  not  passed  unheard.  The  door 
was  opened  from  within  and  Horace  stood  before  her. 

He  drew  aside  to  let  her  pass  into*  the  room.  But  he  never  fol- 
lowed her  in.  He  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  spbke  to  her,  keeping 
the  door  open  with  his  hand. 

“ Do  you  mind  waiting  here  for  me?”  he  asked.  She  looked  at 
him  in  vacant  surprise,  doubting  whether  she  had  heard  him  aright. 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


15S 


* “ it  will  not  be  for  long,”  he  went  on.  “ I am  far  too  anxious  tc 
hear  what  you  have  to  tell  me  to  submit  to  any  needless  delays. 
The  truth  is,  I have  had  a message  from  Lady  Janet. 

(From  Lady  Janet!  What  could  Lady  Janet  want  with  him,  at  a 
time  when  she  was  bent  on  composing  herself  in  the  retirement  of 
her  own  room?) 

I ought  to  have  said  two  messages,”  Horace  proceeded.  “ The 
first  was  given  to  me  on  my  way  down  stairs.  Lady  Janet  wished 
to  see  me  immediately.  I sent  an  excuse.  A second  message  fol- 
lowed. Lady  Janet  would  accept  no  excuse.  If  I refused  to  go  to 
her  I should  be  merely  obliging  her  to  come  to  me.  It  is  impossible 
to  risk  being  interrupted  in  that  way ; my  only  alternative  is  to  gel 
the  thing  over  as  soon  as  possible.  Do  you  mind  waiting?” 

- Certainly  not.  Have  you  any  idea  of  what  Lady  Janet  wants 
with  you?” 

” No.  Whatever  it  is,  she  shall  not  keep  me  long  away  from  you. 
You  will  be  quite  alone  here;  1 have  warned  the  servants  not  to 
show  any  one  in.”  With  those  words  he  left  her. 

Mercy's  first  sensation  was  a sensation  of  relief — soon  lost  in  a 
feeling  of  shame  at  the  weakness  which  could  welcome  any  tempo- 
rary relief  of  such  a position  as  hers.  The  emotion  thus  roused 
merged,  in  its  turn,  into  a sense  of  impatient  regret.  “ But  for  Lady 
Janet’s  message,”  she  thought  to  herself,  ‘‘I  might  have  known 
my  fate  by  this  time!” 

The  slow  minutes  followed  each  other  drearily.  She  paced  to  and 
fro  in  the  library,  faster  and  faster,  under  the  intolerable  irritation, 
the  maddening  uncertainty  of  her  own  suspense.  Ere  long,  even 
the  spacious  room  seemed  to  be  too  small'  for  her.  The  sober  monot- 
ony of  the  long  book-lined  shelves  oppressed  and  offended  her. 
She  threw  open  the  door  which  led  into  the  dining-room,  and  dashed 
in,  eager  for  a change  of  objects,  athirst  for  more  space  and  more 
air.  At  the  first  step  she  checked  herself;  rooted  to  the  spot,  under 
a sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  which  quieted  her  in  an  instant. 

The  room  was  only  illuminated  by  the  waning  fire-light.  A man 
was  obscurely  visible,  seated  on  the  sofa,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  his  head  resting  on  his  hands.  He  looked  up  as  the  open 
aoor  let  in  the  light  from  the  library  lamps.  The  mellow  glow 
reached  his  face  and  revealed  Julian  Gray. 

Mercy  was  standing  with  her  back  to  the  light;  her  face  being 
necessarily  hidden  in  deep  shadow.  He  recognized  her  by  her  fig- 
ure, and  by  the  attitude  into  which  it  unconsciously  fell.  That  un 


156 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


sought  grace,  that  lithe  long  beauty  of  line,  belonged  to  but  one 
woman  in  the  house.  He  rose  and  approached  her. 

‘‘I  have  been  wishing  to  see  you,”  he  said,  “and  hoping  that 
accident  might  bring  about  some  such  meeting  as  this.” 

He  offered  her  a chair.  Mercy  hesitated  before  she  took  her  seat. 
This  was  their  first  meeting  alone  since  Lady  Janet  had  interrupted 
her  at  the  moment  when  she  was  about  to  confide  to  Julian  the  meb 
ancholy  story  of  the  past.  W as  he  anxious  to  seize  the  opportunity 
of  returning  to  her  confession?  The  terms  in  which  he  had  ad- 
dressed her  seemed  to  imply  it.  She  put  the  question  to  him  in  plain 
words. 

“ 1 feel  the  deepest  interest  in  hearing  all  that  you  still  have  to 
.confide  to  me,”  he  answered.  “ But  anxious  as  1 may  be,  I will 
not  hurry  you.  1 will  wait,  if  you  wish  it.” 

“lam  afraid  I must  own  that  I do  wish  it,  ” Mercy  rejoined. 
“ Not  on  my  account — but  because  my  time  is  at  the  disposal  of 
Horace  Holmcroft.  I expect  to  see  him  in  a few  minutes.” 

“Could  you  give  me  those  few  minutes?”  Julian  asked.  “I 
have  something  on  my  side  to  say  to  you  which  I think  you  ought 
to  know  before  you  see  any  one — Horace  himself  included.” 

He  spoke  with  a certain  depression  of  tone  which  was  not  associ- 
ated with  her  previous  experience  of  him.  His  face  looked  prema- 
turely old  and  care-worn  in  the  red  light  of  the  fire.  Something  had 
plainly  happened  to  sadden  and  disappoint  him  since  they  had  last 
met. 

“ I willingly  offer  you  all  the  time  that  I have  at  my  own  com- 
mand,” Mercy  replied.  “ Does  what  you  have  to  tell  me  relate  to 
Lady  Janet?” 

He  gave  her  no  direct  reply.  “ What  I have  to  tell  you  of  Lady 
Janet,”  he  said,  gravely,  “ is  soon  told.  So  far  as  she  is  concerned, 
you  have  nothing  more  to  dread.  Lady  Janet  knows  all.”  Ev^cn 
the  heavy  weight  of  oppression  caused  by  the  impending  interview 
with  Horace  failed  to  hold  its  place  in  Mercy’s  mind  when  Julian 
answered  her  in  those  words. 

“ Come  into  the  lighted  room,”  she  said,  faintly.  “It  is  too  ter- 
rible to  hear  you  say  that  in  the  dark.” 

Julian  followed  her  into  the  library.  Her  limbs  trembled  under 
her.  She  dropped  into  a chair,  and  shrank  under  his  great  bright 
eyes,  as  he  stood  by  her  side  looking  sadly  down  on  her. 

“Lady  Janet  knows  all!”  she  repealed,  with  her  head  on  he^ 
breast,  and  the  tears  falling  slowly  over  her  cheeks.  “ Have  you 
told  her!”  ^ 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK, 


157 


'*  1 have  said  nothing  to  Lady  Janet  or  to  any  one.  Your  confi- 
dence is  a sacred  confidence  to  me,  until  you  have  spoken  first. 

“ Has  Lady  Janet  said  anything  to  you?” 

“ Not  a word.  She  has  looked  at  you  with  the  vigilant  eyes  of 
love;  she  has  listened  to  you  with  the  quick  hearing  of  love— and 
she  has  found  her  own  way  to  the  truth.  She  will  not  speak  of  it  to 
me  —she  will  not  speak  of  it  to  any  living  creature.  I only  know 
now  how  dearly  she  loved  you.  In  spite  of  herself  she  clings  to  you 
still.  Her  life,  poor  soul,  has  been  a barren  one;  unworthy,  miser- 
ably unworthy  of  such  a nature  as  hers.  Her  marriage  was  loveless 
and  childless.  She  has  had  admirers,  but  never,  in  the  higher  sense 
of  the  word,  a friend.  All  the  best  years  of  her  life  have  been 
wasted  in  the  unsatisfied  longing  for  something  to  love.  At  the  end 
of  her  life  You  have  filled  the  void.  Her  heart  has  found  its  youth 
again,  through  You.  At  her  age — at  any  age — is  such  a tie  as  this 
to  be  rudely  broken  at  the  mere  bidding  of  circumstances?  No! 
She  will  suffer  anything,  risk  anything,  forgive  anything,  rather  than 
own,  even  to  herself,  that  she  has  been  deceived  in  you.  There  is 
more  than  her  happiness  at  stake;  there  is  pride,  a noble  pride,  in 
such  love  as  hers,  which  will  ignore  the  plainest  discovery  and  deny 
the  most  unanswerable  truth.  I am  firmly  convinced — from  my 
own  knowledge  of  her  character,  and  from  what  I have  observed  in 
her  to-day — that  she  will  find  some  excuse  for  refusing  to  hear  your 
confession.  And  more  than  that,  I believe  (if  the  exertion  of  her 
influence  can  do  it)  that  she  will  leave  no  means  untried  of  prevent- 
ing you  from  acknowledging  your  true  position  here  to  any  living 
creature.  I take  a serious  responsibility  on  myself  in  telling  you 
this — and  I don’t  shrink  from  it.  You  ought  to  know,  and  you 
shall  know,  what  trials  and  what  temptations  may  yet  lie  before 
you.” 

He  paused — leaving  Mercy  time  to  compose  herself,  if  she  wished 
to  speak  to  him.  She  felt  that  there  was  a necessity  for  her  speak- 
ing to  him.  He  was  plainly  not  aware  that  Lady  Janet  had  already 
written  to  her  to  defer  her  promised  explanation.  This  circumstance 
was  in  itself  a confirmation  of  the  opinion  which  he  had  expressed. 
She  ought  to  mention  it  to  him ; she  tried  to  mention  it  to  him.  But 
she  was  not  equal  to  the  effort.  The  few  simple  words  in  which  he 
had  touched  on  the  tie  that  bound  Lady  Janet  to  her  had  wrung  her 
heart.  Her  tears  choked  her.  She  could  only  sign  to  him  to  go  on. 

“ You  may  wonder  at  my  speaking  so  positively,”  he  continued, 
‘ with  nothing  better  than  my  own  conviction  to  justify  me.  I can 
only  say  that  I have  watched  Lady  Janet  too  closely  to  feel  any 


158 


THE  TTEW  MAGDALEHa 


doubt.  I saw  the  moment  in  which  the  truth  flashed  on  her,  as 
plainly  as  I now  see  you  It  did  not  disclose  itself  gradually—it 
burst  ou  her,  as  it  burst  on  me.  She  suspected  nothing— she  was 
frankly  indignant  at  your  sudden  interference  and  your  strange 
language — until  the  time  came  in  which  you  pledged  yourself  to  pro- 
duce Mercy  Merrick.  Then  (and  then  only)  the  truth  broke  on  her 
mind,  trebly  revealed  to  her  in  your  words,  your  voice,  and  your 
look.  Then  (and  then  only)  I saw  a marked  change  come  over  her, 
and  remain  in  her  while  she  remained  in  the  room.  1 dread  to  think 
of  what  she  may  do  in  the  first  reckless  despair  of  the  discovery  that 
she  has  made.  I distrust— though  God  knows  I am  not  naturally  a 
suspicious  man — the  most  apparently  trifling  events  that  are  now 
taking  place  about  us.  You  have  held  nobly  to  your  resolution  to 
own  the  truth.  Prepare  yourself,  before  the  evening  is  over,  to  be 
tried  and  tempted  again.” 

MerPy  lifted  her  head.  Fear  took  the  place  of  grief  in  her  eyes, 
as  they  rested  in  startled  inquiry  on  Julian’s  face. 

‘‘  How  is  it  possible  that  temptation  can  come  to  me  now?”  she 
asked. 

“ 1 will  leave  it  to  events  to  answer  that  question,”  he  said. 
“You  will  not  have  long  to  wait.  In  the  meantime  I have  put  you 
on  your  guard.”  He  stooped,  and  spoke  his  next  words  earnestly, 
close  at  her  ear.  “ Hold  fast  by  the  admirable  courage  which  you 
have  shown  thus  far,”  he  went  on.  “ Suffer  anything  rather  than 
suffer  the  degradation  of  yourself.  Be  the  woman  whom  1 once 
spoke  of — the  woman  I still  have  in  my  mind — who  can  nobly  reveal 
the  noble  nature  that  is  in  her.  And  never  forget  this — my  faith  in 
you  ’ as  firm  as  ever!”  She  looked  at  him  proudly  and  gratefully. 

“lam  pledged  to  justify  your  faith  in  me,”  she  said-  “ I have 
put  it  out  of  my  own  power  to  yield.  Horace  has  my  promise  that 
I will  explain  everything  to  him,  in  this  room.” 

Julian  started.  “ Has  Horace  himself  asked  it  of  you?”  he  in- 
quired. “ He,  at  least,  has  no  suspicion  of  the  truth.” 

“ Horace  has  appealed  to  my  dut}’’  to  him  as  his  betrothed  wife,” 
she  answered.  “ He  has  the  first  claim  to  my  confidence — he  re- 
sents my  silence,  and  he  has  a right  to  resent  it.  Terrible  as  it  will 
be  to  open  his  eyes  to  the  truth,  I must  do  it  if  he  asks  me.” 

She  was  looking  at  Julian  while  she  spoke.  The  old  longing  to 
associate  with  the  hard  trial  of  the  confession  the  one  man  who  had 
felt  for  her,  and  believed  in  her,  revived  under  another  form.  If 
she  could  only  know,  while  she  was  saying  the  fatal  words  to  Horace, 
that  Julian  was  listening  too,  she  w^ould  be  encouraged  to  meet  the 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH. 


159 


worst  that  could  happen  1 As  the  idea  crossed  her  mind,  she  ob- 
served that  Julian  was  looking  toward  the  door  through  which  they 
h^d  lately  passed.  In  an  instant  she  saw  the  means  to  her  end. 
Hkrdly  waiting  to  hear  the  few  kind  expressions  of  sympathy  and 
ajiproval  which  he  addressed  to  her,  she  hinted  timidly  at  the  pro- 
poijftl  which  she  had  now  to  make  to  him. 

*1  Are  you  going  back  into  the  next  room?'’  she  asked. 

Not  if  you  object  to  it,"  he  replied. 

‘ ■ 1 don't  object.  I want  you  to  be  there." 

‘I  After  Horace  has  joined  you?" 

‘^  Yes.  After  Horace  has  joined  me." 

‘‘ipo  you  wish  to  see  me  when  it  is  over?" 

She  summoned  her  resolution,  and  told  him  frankly  what  she  had 
in  her  mind. 

" I want  you  to  be  near  me  while  1 am  speaking  to  Horace,"  she 
^id.  " It  will  give  me  courage  if  I can  feel  that  I am  speaking  to 
you  as  well  as  to  him.  1 can  count  on  your  sympathy— and  sym- 
pathy is  so  precious  to  me  now!  Ami  asking  too  much  if  I ask 
you  to  leave  the  door  unclosed,  when  you  go  back  to  the  dining- 
room? Think  of  the  dreadful  trial— to  him  as  well  as  to  me!  I am 
only  a woman;  I am  afraid  I may  sink  under  it,  if  1 have  no  friend 
near  me.  And  I have  no  friend  but  you. " 

In  those  simple  words  she  tried  her  powers  of  persuasion  on  him 
for  the  first  time.  Between  perplexity  and  distress  Julian  was,  for 
the  moment,  al  a loss  how  to  answer  her.  The  love  for  Mercy  which 
he  dared  not  acknowledge  was  as  vital  a feeling  in  him  as  the  faith 
in  her  which  he  had  been  free  to  avow.  To  refuse  anything  that 
she  asked  of  him  in  her  sore  need— and,  more  even  than  that,  to  re- 
fuse to  hear  the  confession  which  it  had  been  her  first  impulse  to 
make  to  him — these  were  cruel  sacrifices  to  his  sense  of  what  was 
due  to  Horace  and  of  what  was  due  to  himself.  But  shrink  as  he 
might,  even  from  the  appearance  of  deserting  her,  it  was  impossible 
for  him  (except  under  a reserve  which  was  almost  equivalent  to  a 
deniaij)  to  grant  her  request. 

All  that  1 can  do  I will  do,"  he  said.  “ The  door  shall  be  left 
unclosed,  and  I will  remain  in  the  next  room,  on  this  condition,  that 
Horace  knows  of  it  as  well  as  you.  I should  be  unworthy  of  your 
confidence  in  me  if  I consented  to  be  a Mstener  on  any  other  terms. 
You  understand  that,  I am  sure,  as  well  as  I do." 

She  had  never  thought  of  her  proposal  to  him  in  this  light. 
Woman-like,  she  had  thought  of  nothing  but  the  comfort  of  having 
Mm  near  her.  She  understood  him  now.  A faint  flush  of  shame 


160 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


rose  on  her  pale  cheeks  as  she  thanked  him.  He  delicately  relieved 
her  from  her  embarrassment  by  putting  a question  which  naturally 
occurred  under  the  circumstances. 

Where  is  Horace  all  this  time?’’  he  asked. , Why  is  he  not 
here?” 

He  has  been  called  away,”  she  answered,  “ by  a message  from 
Lady  Janet.” 

• The  reply  more  than  astonished  Julian;  it  seemed  almost  to  alarm 
him.  He  returned  to  Mercy’s  chair,  he  said  to  her,  eagerly.  ” Are 
you  sure?” 

” Horace  himself  told  me  that  Lady  Janet  had  insisted  on  seeing 
him.” 

“ When?” 

- Not  long  ago.  He  asked  me  to  wait  for  him  here  while  he  went 
up  stairs.  ’ ’ 

Julian’s  face  darkened  ominously. 

This  confirms  my  worst  fears,”  he  said.  ” Have  you  had  any 
communication  with  Lady  Janet?” 

Mercy  replied  by  showing  him  his  aunt’s  note.  He  read  it 
carefully  through. 

” Did  I not  tell  you,”  he  said,  “ that  she  would  find  some  excuse 
for  refusing  to  hear  your  confession?  She  begins  by  delaying  it, 
simply  to  gain  time  for  something  else  which  she  has  in  her  mind  to 
do.  When  did  you  receive  this  note?  Soon  after  you  went  up 
stairs?” 

‘‘  About  a quarter  of  an  hour  after,  as  well  as  1 can  guess.” 

” Do  you  know  what  happened  down  here  after  you  left  us?” 

“ Horace  told  me  that  Lady  Janet  had  offered  Miss  Roseberry  th® 
use  of  her  boudoir.” 

” Any  more?” 

” He  said  that  you  had  shown  her  the  way  to  the  room.” 

“ Did  he  tell  you  what  happened  after  that?” 

‘‘No.” 

” Then  I must  tell  you.  If  I can  do  nothing  more  in  this  serious 
state  of  things,  I can  at  least  prevent  your  being  taken  by  surprise. 
In  the  first  place,  it  is  right  you  should  know  that  1 had  a motive 
for  accompanying  Miss  Roseberry  to  the  boudoir.  I was  anxious 
(for  your  sake)  lo  make  some  appeal  to  her  better  self — if  she  had 
any  belter  self  lo  address.  I own  I had  doubts  of  my  success- 
judging  by  what  I had  already  seen  of  her.  My  doubts  were  confirmed. 
In  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  life  I should  merely  have  thought 
her  a commonplace,  uninteresting  woman.  Seeing  her  as  I saw  her 


THE  Js^EW  MAGDALEK- 


161 


-^vhile  we  were  alone— in  other  words,  penetrating  below  the  sur- 
face— 1 have  never,  in  all  sad  experience,  met  with  such  a hope- 
lessly narrow,  mean,  and  low  nature  as  hers.  Understanding,  as  she 
Bould  not  fail  to  do,  what  the  sudden  change  in  Lady  Janet's  behavior 
toward  her  really  meant,  her  one  idea  was  to  take  the  crudest 
possible  advantage  of  it.  So  far  fiom  feeling  any  consideration  for 
i/ou,  she  was  only  additionally  imbittered  toward  you.  She  pro- 
tested against  your  being  permitted  to  claim  the  merit  of  placing; 
her  in  her  right  position  here  by  your  own  voluntary  avowal  of  the 
truth.  She  insisted  on  publicly  denouncing  you,  and  on  forcing 
Lady  Janet  to  dismiss  you,  unheard,  before  the  whole  household! 
' Now  lean  have  my  revenge!  At  last  Lady  Janet  is  afraid  of  me!’ 
Those  were  her  own  words — 1 am  almost  ashamed  to  repeat  them— 
those,  on  my  honor,  were  her  own  words!  Every  possible  humiliation 
to  be  heaped  on  you;  no  consideration  to  be  shown  for  Lady  Janet’s 
Ige  and  Lady  Janet’s  position ; nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  to  be  al- 
lowed to  interfere  with  Miss  Roseberry ’s  vengeance  and  Miss  Roseber- 
/y ’s  triumph ! There  is  this  woman’s  shameless  view  of  what  is  due  to 
her,  as  stated  by  herself  in  the  plainest  terms.  I kept  my  temper;  1 
did  all  I could  to  bring  her  to  a belter  frame  of  mind.  I might  as 
well  have  pleaded — I won’t  say  with  a savage ; savages  are  sometimes 
accessible  to  remonstrance,  if  you  knowhow  to  reach  them — I might 
as  well  have  pleaded  with  a hungry  animal  to  ^abstain  from  eating 
while  food  was  within  its  reach.  1 had  just  given  up  the  hopeless 
effort  in  disgust,  when  Lady  Janet’s  maid  appeared  with  a message 
for  Miss  Roseberry  from  her  mistress:  *My  lady’s  compliments 
ma’am,  and  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you  at  your  earliest  convenience. 
In  her  room.’  ” 

Another  surprise!  Grace  Roseberry  invited  to  an  interview  with 
Lady  Janet!  It  would  have  been  impossible  to  believe  it,  if  Julian 
had  not  heard  the  invitation  given  with  his  own  ears. 

“She  instantly  rose,”  Julian  proceeded.  “‘I  won't  keep  her 
ladyship  waiting  a moment,’  she  said;  ‘show  me  the  way.’  She 
signed  to  the  maid  to  go  out  of  the  room  first,  and  then  turned 
round  and  spoke  to  me  from  the  door.  I despair  of  describing  the 
insolent  exultation  of  her  manner.  I can  only  repeat  her  words : ‘ This 
is  exactly  what  I wanted!  I had  intended  to  insist  on  seeing  Lady 
Janet;  she  saves  me  the  trouble.  1 am  infinitely  obliged  to  her. ' 
With  that  she  nodded  to  me,  and  closed  the  door.  I have  not  seen 
her,  1 have  not  heard  of  her  since.  For  all  I know,  she  may  be  stih' 
with  my  aunt,  and  Horace  may  have  found  her  there  when  he  en 
tered  the  room.” 

• 


162 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN, 


What  can  Lady  Janet  have  to  say  to  herf”  Mercy  asked 
eagerly. 

“ It  is  impossible  even  to  guess.  When  you  found  me  in  the  din 
ing-room  I was  considering  that  very  question.  I cannot  imagine 
that  any  neutral  ground  can  exist  on  which  it  is^possible  for  Lady 
Janet  and  this  woman  to  meet.  In  her  present  frame  of  mind,  she 
will  in  all  probability  insult  Lady  Janet  before  she  has  been  five 
minutes  in  the  room,  I own  I am  completely  puzzled.  The  one 
conclusion  I can  arrive  at  is  that  the  note  which  my  aunt  sent  to  you, 
the  private  interview  with  Miss  Roseberry  which  has  followed, 
and  the  summons  to  Horace  which  has  succeeded  in  its  turn,  are 
all  links  in  the  same  chain  of  events,  and  are  all  tending  to  that  re- 
newed temptation  against  which  I have  already  warned  you.’’ 

Mercy  held  up  her  hand  for  silence.  She  looked  toward  the  door 
that  opened  on  the  hall;  had  she  heard  a footstep  outside?  No. 
All  was  still.  Not  a sign  yet  of  Horace’s  return. 

Oh!”  she  exclaimed,  ” what  would  I not  give  to  know  what  is 
going  on  up  stairs!” 

“You  will  soon  know  it  now?”  said  Julian.  “It  is  impossible 
that  our  present  uncertainty  can  last  much  longer.” 

He  turned  away,  intending  to  go  back  to  the  room  in  which  she 
had  found  him.  Looking  at  her  situation  from  a man’s  point  of 
view,  he  naturally  assumed  that  the  best  service  he  could  now  ren- 
der to  Mercy  would  be  to  leave  her  to  prepare  herself  for  the  inter- 
view with  Horace.  Before  he  had  taken  three  steps  away  from  her, 
she  showed  him  the  difference  between  the  woman’s  point  of  view 
and  the  man’s.  The  idea  of  considering  beforehand  what  she  should 
say  never  entered  her  mind.  In  her  horror  of  being  left  by  herself  at 
that  critical  moment,  she  forgot  every  other  consideration.  Even  the 
warning  remembrance  of  Horace’s  jealous  distrust  of  Julian  passed 
away  from  her  for  the  moment,  as  completely  as  if  it  never  had  a 
place  in  her  memory.  “Don’t  leave  me!”  she  cried.  “I  can’t 
wait  here  alone.  Come  back— come  back!” 

She  rose  impulsively  while  she  spoke,  as  if  to  follow  him  into 
the  dining-room,  if  he  persisted  in  leaving  her.  A moment  any  ex- 
pression of  doubt  crossed  Julian’s  face  as  he  retraced  his  steps  and 
signed  to  her  to  be  seated  again.  Could  she  be  depended  on  (he 
asked  himself)  to  sustain  the  coming  test  of  her  resolution,  when 
she  had  not  courage  enough  to  wait  for  events  in  a room  by  herself? 
Julian  had’ yet  to  learn  that  a woman’s  courage  rises  with  the  great- 
ness of  the  emergency.  Ask  her  to  accompany  you  through  a field 
in  which  some  harmless  cattle  happen  to  be  grazing,  and  it  is 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


163 


doubtful,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  if  she  will  do  it.  Ask  her,  as 
one  of  the  passeng:ers  in  a ship  on  tire,  to  help  in  setting  an  example 
of  composure  to  the  rest,  and  it  is  certain,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
that  she  will  do  it.  As  soon  as  Julian  had  taken  a chair  near  her, 
Mercy  was  calm  again. 

‘‘  Are  y6u  sure  of  your  resolution?’"  he  asked. 

“ I am  certain  of  it,”  she  answered,  ” as  long  as  you  don’t  leave 
me  by  myself.” 

The  talk  between  them  dropped  there.  They  sat  together  in  si- 
lence, with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  door  waiting  for  Horace  to  come  in. 

After  the  lapse  of  a few  minutes  their  attention  was  attracted  by 
a sound  outside  in  the  grounds.  A carriage  of  some  sort  was  plainly 
audible  approaching  the  house. 

The  carriage  slopped ; the  bell  rang ; the  front  door  was  opened. 
Had  a visitor  arrived?  No  voice  could  be  heard  making  inquiries. 
No  footsteps  but  the  servant’s  footsteps  crossed  the  hall.  A long  pause 
followed, the  carriage  remaining  at  the  door.  Instead  of  bringing  some 
one  to  the  house,  it  had  apparently  arrived  to  take  some  one  away. 
The  next  event  was  the  return  of  the  servant  to  the  front  door. 
They  listened  again.  Again  no  second  footstep  was  audible.  The 
door  was  closed;  the  servant  recrossed  the  hall;  the  carriage  was 
driven  away.  Judging  by  sounds  alone,  no  one  had  arrived  at  the 
house,  and  no  one  had  left  the  house.  Julian  looked  at  Mercy.  ” Do 
you  understand  this?”  he  asked.  She  silently  shook  her  head. 

” If  any  person  has  gone  away  in  the  carriage,”  Julian  went  on, 
“ that  person  can  hardly  have  been  a man,  or  we  must  have  heard 
him  in  the  hall.^ 

The  conclusion  which  her  companion  had  just  drawn  from  the 
noiseless  departure  of  the  supposed  visitor  raised  a sudden  doubt  in 
Mercy’s  mind. 

“ Go  and  inquire!”  she  said,  eagerly. 

Julian  left  the  room,  and  returned  again,  after  a brief  absence, 
with  signs  of  grave  anxiety  in  his  face  and  manner. 

‘vl  told  you  I dreaded  the  most  trifling  events  that  were  passing 
about  us,”  he  said.  “ An  event,  which  is  far  from  being  trifling, 
has  just  happened.  The  carriage  which  we  heard  approaching 
along  the  drive  turns  out  to  have  been  a cab  sent  for  from  the 
house.  The  person  who  has  gone  away  in  it — ” 

Is  a woman,  as  you  supposed?” 

“Yes.” 

Mercy  rose  excitedly  from  her  chair.  ‘ It  can’t  be  Grace  Kose^ 
berry?”  she  exclaimed. 


164 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEN, 


It  is  Grace  Roseberry.” 

“ Has  she  gone  away  alone?*”* 

“ Alone— after  an  interview  with  Lady  Janet/‘ 

Did  she  go  willingly?** 

“ She  herself  sent  the  servant  for  the  cab.** 

“ What  does  it  mean?’* 

It  is  useless  to  inquire.  We  shall  soon  know.**  They  resumes 
their  seats,  waiting,  as  they  had  waited  already,  with  their  eyes  on 
the  library  door. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

LADY  JANE  AT  BAY. 

The  naratiye  leaves  Julian  and  Mercy  for  a while,  and,  ascend- 
ing to  the  upper  regions  of  the  house,  follows  the  march  of  event* 
in  Lady  Janet’s  room. 

The  maid  had  delivered  her  mistress’s  note  to  Mercy,  and  had  gone 
away  again  on  her  second  errand  to  Grace  Roseberry  in  the 
boudoir.  Lady  Janet  was  seated  at  her  writing-table,  waiting  for 
the  appearance  of  the  woman  whom  she  had  summoned  to  her 
presence.  A single  lamp  diffused  its  mild  light  over  the  books, 
pictures,  and  bu*ts  round  her,  leaving  the  further  end  of  the  room, 
in  which  the  bed  was  placed,  almost  lost  in  obscurity.  The  works 
of  art  were  all  portraits;  the  books  were  all  presentation  copies  from 
the  authors.  It  was  Lady  Janet’s  fancy  to  associate  her  bedroom 
with  memorials  of  the  various  persons  whom  she  had  known  in  the 
long  course  of  her  life— all  of  them  more  or  less  distinguished,  most 
of  them,  by  this  time,  gathered  with  the  dead. 

She  sat  near  her  writing-table,  lying  back  in  her  easy- chair— the 
living  realization  of  the  picture  which  Julian’s  description  had 
drawn.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  a photographic  likeness  of  Mercy, 
which  was  so  raised  upon  a little  gilt  easel  as  to  enable  her  to  contem- 
plate it  under  the  full  light  of  the  lamp.  The  bright,  mobile  old 
face  was  strangely  and  sadly  changed.  The  brow  was  fixed;  the 
mouth  was  rigid;  the  whole  face  would  have  been  like  a mask, 
molded  in  the  hardest  forms  of  passive  resistance  and  suppressed 
rage,  but  for  the  light  and  life  still  tlirown  over  it  by  the  eyes. 
There  was  something  unutterably  touching  in  the  keen  hungering 
tenderness  of  the  look  which  they  fixed  on  the  portrait,  intensified 
by  an  underlying  expression  of  fond  and  patient  reproach.  The 
danger  which  Julian  so  wisely  dreaded  was  in  the  rest  of  the  face; 
the  love  which  he  had  so  truly  described  was  in  the  eyes  alone. 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


165 


IJiey  still  spoke  of  the  cruelly  profaned  affection  which  had  been 
the  one  immeasurable  joy,  the  one  inexhaustible  hope,  of  Lady 
Janet’s  closing  life.  The  brow  expressed  nothing  but  her  obstinate 
determination  to  stand  by  the  wreck  of  that  joy,  to  rekindle  the 
dead  ashes  of  that  hope.  The  lips  were  only  eloquent  of  her  un- 
flinching resolution  to  ignore  the  hateful  present  and  to  save  the 
sacred  past.  My  idol  may  be  shattered,  but  none  of  you  shall  know 
it.  I stop  the  march  of  discovery;  I extinguish  the  light  of  truth. 
I am  deaf  to  your  words ; I am  blind  to  yopr  proofs.  At  seventy 
years  old,  my  idol  is  my  life.  It  shall  be  my  idol  still.” 

The  silence  of  the  bedroom  was  broken  by  a murmuring  of 
women’s  voices  outside  the  door.  Lady  Janet  instantly  raised  her- 
self in  the  chair,  and  snatched  the  photograph  off  the  easel.  She 
laid  the  portrait  face  downward  among  some  papers  on  the  table, 
then  abruptly  changed  her  mind,  and  hid  it  among  the  thick  folds 
of  lace  which  clothed  her  neck  and  bosom.  There  was  a world  of 
love  in  the  action  itself,  and  in  the  sudden  softening  of  the  eyes 
which  accompanied  it.  The  next  moment  Lady  Janet’s  mask  wsw 
on.  Any  superticial  observer  who  had  seen  her  now  would  have 
said,  This  is  a hard  woman!” 

The  door  was  opened  by  the  maid.  Grace  Koseberry  entered  the 
room.  She  advanced  rapidly,  with  a defiant  assurance  in  her  man- 
ner, and  a lofty  carriage  of  her  head.  She  sat  down  in  the  chair, 
to  which  Lady  Janet  silently  pointed,  with  a thump;  she  returned 
Lady  Janet’s  grave  bow  with  a nod  and  a smile.  Every  movement 
and  every  look  of  the  little,  worn,  white-faced,  shabbily  dressed 
woman  expressed  insolent  triumph,  and  said,  as  if  in  words,  ” My 
turn  has  come!” 

” I am  glad  to  wait  on  your  ladyship,”  she  began,  without  giving 
Lady  Janet  an  opportunity  of  speaking  first.  “ Indeed,  1 should 
have  felt  it  my  duty  to  request  an  interview,  if  you  had  not  sent 
your  maid  to  invite  me  up  here.” 

“You  would  have  felt  it  your  duty  to  request  an  interview?” 
Lady  Janet  repeated,  very  quietly.  “Why?” 

The  tone  in  which  that  one  last  word  was  spoken  embarrassed 
Grace  at  the  outset.  It  established  as  great  a distance  between  Lady 
Janet  and  herself  as  if  she  had  been  lifted  in  her  chair  and  con- 
veyed bodily  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

“lam  surprised  that  your  ladyship  should  not  understand  me,” 
she  said,  struggling  to  conceal  her  confusion.  “ Especially  after 
your  kind  offer  of  your  own  boudoir.  ’ ’ 


166 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEIJ* 


Lady  Janet  remained  perfectly  unmoved.  ‘‘  I do  not  understand 
you/’  she  answered,  just  as  quietly  as  ever. 

Grace’s  temper  came  to  her  assistance.  She  recovered  the  assur- 
ance which  had  marked  her  first  appearance  on  the  scene. 

“ In  that  case,”  she  resumed,  ” I must  enter  into  particulars,  in 
justice  to  myself.  I can  place  but  one  interpretation  on  the  extra- 
ordinary change  in  your  ladyship’s  behavior  to  me  down  stairs. 
The  conduct  of  that  abominable  woman  has,  at  last,  opened  your 
eyes  to  the  deception  that  has  been  practiced  on  you.  For  some 
reason  of  your  own,  however,  you  have  not  yet  chosen  to  recognize 
me  openly.  In  this  painful  position  something  is  due  to  my  own  self- 
respect.  I cannot,  and  will  not,  permit  Mercy  Merrick  to  claim 
the  merit  of  restoring  me  to  my  proper  place  in  this  house.  After 
what  I have  suffered  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  endure  that. 
I should  have  requested  an  interview  (if  you  had  not  sent  for  me) 
for  the  express  purpose  of  claiming  this  person’s  immediate  expul- 
sion from  the  house.  I claim  it  now  as  a proper  concession  to  Me. 
Whatever  you  or  Mr.  Julian  Gray  may  do,  1 will  not  tamely  permit 
her  to  exhibit  herself  as  an  interesting  penitent.  It  is  really  a little 
too  much  to  hear  this  brazen  adventuress  appoint  her  own  time  for 
explaining  herself.  It  is  too  deliberately  insulting  to  see  her  sail  out 
of  the  room — with  a clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England  opening 
the  door  for  her— as  if  she  was  laying  me  under  an  obligation!  I 
can  forgive  much.  Lady  Janet — including  the  terms  in  which  you 
thought  it  decent  to  order  me  out  of  your  house.  I am  quite  willing 
to  accept  the  offer  of  your  boudoir,  as  the  expression  on  your  part 
of  a better  frame  of  mind.  But  even  Christian  Charity  has  its 
limits.  The  continued  presence  of  that  wretch  under  your  roof  is, 
you  will  permit  me  to  remark,  not  only  a monument  of  your  own 
weakness,  but  a perfectly  insufferable  insult  to  Me.” 

There  she  stopped  abruptly— not  for  want  of  words,  but  for  want 
of  a listener.  Lady  Janet  was  not  even  pretending  to  attend  to 
her.  Lay  Janet,  with  ^ deliberate  rudeness,  entirely  foreign  to  her 
usual  habits,  was  composedly  busying  herself  in  arranging  the  vari- 
ous papers  scattered  about  the  table.  Some  she  tied  together  with 
little  morsels  of  string;  some  she  placed  under  paper-weights;  some 
she  deposited  in  the  fantastic  pigeon-holes  of  a little  Japanese 
cabinet — working  with  a placid  enjoyment  of  her  own  orderly  oc- 
cupation, and  perfectly  unaware,  to  all  outward  appearance,  that 
any  second  person  was  in  the  room.  She  looked  up,  with  her 
papers  in  both  hands,  when  Grace  stopped,  and  said  quietly, 

” Have  you  done?” 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


167 


**  Is  your  ladyship’s  purpose  in  sending  for  me  to  treat  me  with 
studied  rudeness?”  Grace  retorted,  angrily. 

“ My  purpose  in  sending  for  you  is  to  say  something  as  soon  as 
you  will  allow  me  the  opportunity.” 

The  impenetrable  composure  of  that  reply  took  Grace  completely 
by  surprise.  She  had  no  retort  ready.  In  sheer  astonishment  she 
waited  silently,  with  her  eyes  riveted  on  the  mistress  of  the  house. 
Lady  Janet  put  down  her  papers,  and  settled  herself  comfortably  in 
the  easy-chair,  preparatory  to  opening  the  interview  on  her  side. 

“ The  little  that  I have  to  say  to  you,”  she  began,  “ may  be  said 
in  a question.  Am  I right  in  supposing  that  you  have  no  present 
employment,  and  that  a little  advance  in  money  (delicately  offered) 
would  be  very  acceptable  to  you?” 

Do  you  mean  to  insult  me,  Lady  Janet?” 

” Certainly  not.  I mean  to  ask  you  a question.  ” 

” Your  question  is  an  insult.” 

” My  question  is  a kindness,  if  you  will  only  understand  it  as  it 
is  intended.  1 don’t  complain  of  your  not  understanding  it.  I 
don’t  even  hold  you  responsible  for  any  one  of  the  many  breaches 
of  good  manners  which  you  have  committed  since  you  have  been  in 
this  room.  1 was  honestly  anxious  to  be  of  some  service  to  you, 
and  you  have  repelled  my  advances.  I am  sorry.  Let  us  drop  the 
subject.” 

Expressing  herself  in  the  most  perfect  temper  in  those  terms, 
Lady  Janet  resumed  the  arrangement  of  her  papers,  and  became  un- 
conscious once  more  of  the  presence  of  any  second  person  in  the 
room. 

Grace  opened  her  lips  to  reply  with  the  utmost  intemperance  of 
an  angry  woman,  and  thinking  better  of  it,  controlled  herself.  It 
was  plainly  useless  to  take  the  violent  way  with  Lady  Janet  Roy. 
Her  age  and  social  position  were  enough  of  themselves  to  repel  any 
violence.  She  evidently  knew  that,  and  trusted  to  it.  Grace  re- 
solved to  meet  the  enemy  on  the  neutral  ground  of  politeness,  as 
the  most  promising  ground  that  she  could  occupy  under  the  present 
circumstances. 

‘‘  If  I have  said  anything  hasty,  I beg  to  apologize  to  your  lady- 
ship,” she  began.  “ May  I ask  if  your  only  object  in  sending  for 
me  was  to  inauire  into  my  pecuniary  affairs,  with  a view  to  assist- 
ing me’” 

That,”  said  Lady  Janet,  ” was  my  only  object.” 

‘You  had  nothing  to  say  to  me  on  the  subject  of  Mercy  Mer 
!»ck’” 


168 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


“ Nothing  whatever.  1 am  weary  of  hearing  of  Mercy  Merrick 
Have  you  any  more  questions  to  ask  me?^' 

‘‘ 1 have  one  more.'' 

Yes?^^ 

i wish  to  ask  your  ladyship  whether  you  propose  to  recognize 
roe  in  the  presence  of  your  household,  as  the  late  Colonel  Rose- 
berry's  daughter?" 

‘ ‘ I have  already  recognized  you  as  a lady  in  embarrassed  circum- 
^itances,  who  has  peculiar  claims  on  my  consideration  and  forbear- 
ance. If  you  wish  me  to  repeat  those  words  in  the  presence  of  the 
servants  (absurd  as  ii  is),  I am  ready  to  comply  with  your  request." 

Grace's  temper  began  to  get  the  better  of  her  prudent  resolutions. 

“Lady  Janet!"  she  said;  “this  won’t  do.  I must  request  you 
'^o  express  yourself  plainly.  Y ou  talk  of  my  peculiar  claims  on 
Vour  forbearance.  What  claims  do  you  mean." 

“ It  will  be  painful  to  both  of  us  if  we  enter  into  details,"  replied 
Lady  Janet.  “ Pray  don't  let  us  enter  into  details." 

“ I insist  on  it,  madam." 

“ Pray  don't  insist  on  it." 

Grace  was  deaf  to  remonstrance. 

“ I ask  you  in  plain  words,"  she  went  on,  “ do  you  acknowledge 
that  you  have  been  deceived  by  an  adventuress  who  has  personated 
me?  Do  you  mean  to  restore  me  to  my  proper  place  in  this  house?" 

Lady  Janet  returned  to  the  arrangement  of  her  papers. 

“ Does  your  ladyship  refuse  to  listen  to  me?"  Lady  Janet 
looked  up  from  her  papers  as  blandly  as  ever. 

“If  you  persist  in  returning  to  your  delusion,"  she  said,  “you 
will  oblige  me  to  persist  in  returning  to  my  papers." 

“ What  is  my  delusion,  if  you  please?" 

“ Your  delusion  is  expressed  in  the  questions  you  have  just  put 
to  me.  Your  delusion  constitutes  your  peculiar  claim  on  my  for- 
bearance. Nothing  you  can  say  or  do  will  shake  my  forbearance. 
When  I first  found^you  in  the  dining  room,  I acted  most  improperl}^; 
I lost  my  temper.  I did  worse;  I was  foolish  enough  and  impru- 
dent enough  to  send  for  a police  officer.  I owe  you  every  possible 
atonement  (afflicted  as  you  are)  for  treating  you  in  that  cruel  man- 
ner. 1 offered  you  the  use  of  my  boudoir,  as  part  of  my  atonement. 
1 sent  for  you,  in  the  hope  that  you  would  allow  me  to  assist  you, 
as  part  of  my  atonement.  You  may  behave  rudely  to  me,  you  may 
speak  in  the  most  abusive  terms  of  my  adopted  daughter;  I will  sub- 
mit to  anything,  as  part  of  my  atonement.  So  long  as  you  abstain 
from  speaking  on  one  painful  subject,  I will  listen  to  you  with  tbO' 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


169 


greatest  pleasure.  Whenever  you  return  to  the  subject  I shall  return 
to  my  papers.*’ 

Grace  looked  at  Lady  Janet  with  an  evil  smile. 

“I  begin  to  understand  your  ladyship,”  she  said.  ‘‘You  are 
ashamed  to  acknowledge  that  you  have  been  grossly  imposed  upon. 
Your  only  alternative,  of  course,  is  to  ignore  everything  that  has 
happened.  Pray  count  on  my  forbearance.  I am  not  at  all  offended 
— I am  merely  amused.  It  is  not  every  day  that  a lady  of  high  rank 
exhibits  herself  in  such  a position  as  yours  to  an  obscure  woman 
like  me.  Your  humane  consideration  for  me  dates,  I presume, 
from  the  time  when  your  adopted  daughter  set  you  the  example,  by 
ordering  the  police  oflSicer  out  of  the  room?” 

Lady  Janet’s  composure  was  proof  even  against  this  assault  on  it. 
She  gravely  accepted  Grace’s  inquiry  as  a question  addressed  to  her 
in  perfect  good  faith. 

” I am  not  at  all  surprised,”  she  replied,  ” to  find  that  my  adopt' 
ed  daughter’s  interference  has  exposed  her  to  misrepresentation. 
She  ought  to  have  remonstrated  with  me  privately  before  rhe  inier- 
fered.  But  she  has  one  fault — she  is  too  impulsive.  I have  never, 
in  all  my  experience,  met  with  such  a warm-hearted  person  as  she 
is.  Always  too  considerate  of  others;  always  too  forgetful  of  her- 
self! The  mere  appearance  of  the  police  oflScer  placed  you  ia  a sit- 
uatioh  to  appeal  to  her  compassion,  and  her  impulses  carried  her 
away  as  usual.  My  fault!  All  my  fault!” 

Grace  changed  her  tone  once  more.  She  was  quick  enough  to 
discern  that  Lady  Janet  was  a match  for  her  with  her  own  weapons. 

” We  have  had  enough  of  this,”  she  said.  “ It  is  time  to  be  seri- 
ous. Your  adopted  daughter  (as  you  call  her)  is  Mercy  Merrick, 
and  you  know  it.” 

Lady  Janet  returned  to  her  papers. 

‘‘  1 am  Grace  Roseberry,  whose  name  she  has  stolen — and  you 
know  that.'" 

Lady  Janet  went  on  with  her  papers. 

Grace  got  up  from  her  chair. 

” I accept  your  silence.  Lady  Janet,”  she  said,  “ as  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  your  deliberate  resolution  to  suppress  the  truth.  You 
are  evidently  determined  to  receive  the  adventuress  as  the  true 
woman ; and  you  don’t  scruple  to  face  tHe  consequences  of  that  pro- 
ceeding, by  pretending  to  my  face  to  believe  that  I am  mad.  I will 
not  allow  myself  to  be  impudently  cheated  out  of  my  rights  in  this 
way.  You  will  hear  from  me  again,  madam,  when  the  Canadian 
mail  arrives  in  England.”  She  walked  toward  the  door  This 


170 


THE  HEW  HAGEALEH. 


time  Lady  Janet  answered,  as  readily  and  as  explicitly  as  ifWas 
possible  to  desire. 

“ I shall  refuse  to  receive  your  letters,”  she  said. 

Grace  returned  a few  steps,  threateningly. 

‘‘  My  letters  shall  be  followed  by  my  witnesses,”  she  proceeded. 

” 1 shall  refuse  to  receive  your  witnesses.” 

‘‘  Refuse  at  your  peril.  1 will  appeal  to  the  law.”  Lady  Janet 
smiled. 

‘‘  I don’t  pretend  to  much  knowledge  of  the  subject,”  she  said; 
“ but  I should  be  surprised  indeed  if  T discovered  that  you  had  any 
claim  on  me  which  the  law  could  enforce.  However,  let  us  suppose 
that  you  can  set  the  law  in  action.  You  know  as  well  as  1 do  that 
the  only  motive  power  which  can  do  that  is — money.  1 am  rich ; 
fees,  costs,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  are  matters  of  no  sort  of  conse- 
quence to  me.  May  I ask  if  you  are  iu  the  same  position?” 

The  question  silenced  Grace.  So  far  as  money  was  concerned, 
she  was  literally  at  the  end  of  her  resources.  Her  only  friends  were 
Mends  in  Canada.  After  what  she  had  said  to  him  in  the  boudoir, 
it  would  be  quite  useless  to  appeal  to  the  sympathies  of  Julian 
Gray.  In  the  pecuniary  sense,  and  in  one  word,  she  was  abso- 
lutely incapable  of  gratifying  her  own  vindictive  longings.  And 
there  sat  the  mistress  of  Mablethorpe  House,  perfectly  well 
aware  of  it.  Lady  Janet  pointed  to  the  empty  chair. 

” Suppose  you  sit  down  again?”  she  suggested.  ” The  course 
of  our  interview  seems  to  have  brought  us  back  to  the  question 
that  1 asked  you  when  you  came  into  my  room.  Instead  of 
threatening  me  with  the  law,  suppose  you  consider  the  propriety  of 
permitting  me  to  be  of  some  use  to  you.  I am  iu  the  habit  of  as- 
sisting ladies  in  embarrassed  circumstances,  and  nobody  knows  of 
it  hut  my  steward— who  keeps  the  accounts — and  myself.  Once 
more,  let  me  inquire  if  a little  advance  of  the  pecuniary  sort  (deli- 
cately offered)  would  be  acceptable  to  you.” 

Grace  returned  slowly  to  the  chair  that  she  had  left.  She  stood 
by  it,  with  one  hand  grasping  the  top  rail,  and  with  her  eyes  fixed 
in  mocking  scrutiny  on  Lady  Janet’s  face. 

At  last  your  ladyship  shows  your  hand,”  she  said.  ‘‘ Hush- 
money  I” 

''You.  will  send  me  back  to  my  papers,”  rejoined  Lady  Janet. 
” How  obstinate  you  are!” 

Grace’s  hand  closed  tighter  and  tighter  round  the  rail  of  the  chair. 
Without  witnesses,  without  means,  without  so  mucli  as  a rvfu^.e  - 


171 


THE  KEW  MAGDA  LEH. 

\ 

thanks  to  her  own  coarse  cruelties  of  language  and  conduct — in  the 
sympathies  of  others,  the  sense  of  her  isolation  and  her  helplessness 
was  almost  maddening  at  that  final  moment.  A woman  of  finer 
sensibilities  would  have  instantly  left  the  room.  Grace’s  impene- 
trably hard  and  narrow  mind  impelled  her  to  meet  the  emergency 
in  a very  difierent  way  A last  base  vengeance,  to  which  Lady 
Janet  had  voluntarily  exposed  herself,  was  still  within  her  reach. 

For  the  present/’  she  thought,  “there  is  but  one  way  of  being 
even  with  your  ladyship.  I can  cost  you  as  much  as  possible.” 

“Pray,  make  some  allowances  for  me,”  she  said.  “I  am  not 
obstinate — I am  only  a little  awkward  at  matching  the  audacity  of 
a lady  of  high  rank.  I shall  improve  with  practice.  My  own  lan- 
guage is,  as  I am  painfully  aware,  only  plain  English  Permit  me  to 
withdraw  it,  and  to  substitute  yours.  What  advance  is  your  lady- 
ship (delicately)  prepared  to  offer  me?” 

Lady  Janet  opened  a drawer,  and  took  out  her  check-book.  The 
moment  of  relief  had  come  at  last!  The  only  question  now  left  to 
discuss  was  evidently  the  question  of  amount.  Lady  Janet  consid- 
ered a little.  The  question  of  amount  was  (to  her  mind)  in  some 
sort  a question  of  conscience  as  well.  Her  love  for  Mercy  and  her 
loathing  for  Grace,  her  horror  of  seeing  her  darling  degraded  and 
licr  affection  profaned  by  a public  exposure,  had  hurried  her— 
there  was  no  disputing  it— into  treating  an  in  jured  woman  harshly. 
Mateful  as  Grace  Roseberry  might  be,  her  father  had  left  her,  in 
his  last  moments,  with  Lady  Janet’s ‘full  concurrence,  to  Lady 
Janet’s  care.  But  for  Mercy  she  would  have  been  received  at 
Mablethorpe  House  as  Lady  Janet’s  companion,  with  a salary  of 
one  hundred  pounds  a year.  On  the  other  hand,  how  long  (with 
such  a temper  as  she  had  revealed)  would  Grace  have  remained  in 
the  service  of  her  protectress?  She  would  probably  have  been  dis- 
missed in  a few  weeks,  with  a year’s  salary  to  compensate  her,  and 
with  a recommendation  to  some  suitable  employment.  What  would 
be  a fair  compensation  now?  Lady  Janet  decided  that  five  years’ 
salary  immediately  given,  and  future  assistance  rendered,  if  neces- 
sary, would  represent  a fit  remembrance  of  the  late  Colonel  Rose- 
berry’s  claims,  and  a liberal  pecuniary  acknowledgment  of  any 
harshness  of  treatment  which  Grace  might  have  sustained  at  her 
hands.  At  the  same  time,  and  for  the  further  satisfying  of  her  own 
conscience,  she  determined  to  discover  the  sum  which  Grace  herself 
would  consider  sufiScient  by  the  simple  process  of  making  Grace 
herseif  propose  the  terms. 

“It  is  impossible  for  me  to  make  you  an  offer,”  she  said,  “ for 


172 


THE  XEW  MACtDALE-R. 


this  reason — your  need  of  money  will  depend  greatl}'^  on  your  future 
plans.  I am  quite  ignorant  of  your  future  plans.’’ 

“Perhaps  your  ladyship  will  kindly  advise  me,”  said  Grace, 
satirically. 

“ I cannot  altogether  undertake  to  advise  you,”  Lady  Janet  re- 
plied. “ I can  only  suppose  that  you  will  scarcely  remain  in  Eng- 
land, "where  you  have  no  friends.  Whether  you  go  to  law  with  me 
or  not,  you  will  surely  feel  the  necessity  of  communicating  person- 
ally witdi  your  friends  in  Canada.  Am  I right?” 

Grace  was  quite  quick  enough  to  understand  this  as  it  was  meant. 
Properly  interpreted  the  answer  signified — ‘ ‘ If  you  take  your  com- 
pensation in  money,  it  is  understood,  as  part  of  the  bargain,  that 
you  don’t  remain  in  England  to  annoy  me.” 

“ Your  ladyshipJs  quite  right,”  she  said.  “ I shall  certainly  not 
remain  in  England.  I shall  consult  my  friends— and,”  she  added, 
mentally,  “go  to  law  with  you  afterward,  if  I possibly  can,  with 
your  own  money.  ” 

“You  will  return  to  Canada,”  Lady  Janet  proceeded:  “and 
your  prospects  there  wdl  be,  probably,  a little  uncertain  at  first. 
Taking  this  into  consideration,  at  what  amount  do  you  estimate,  in 
your  own  mind,  the  pecuniary  assistance  which  you  will  require?” 

“ May  1 count  on  your  ladyship’s  kindness  to  correct  me  if  my 
own  ignorant  calculations  turn  out  to  be  wrong?”  Grace  asked,  in- 
nocently. 

Here  again  the  words,  properly  interpreted,  had  a special  signifi- 
cance of  their  own:  “ It  is  stipulated,  on  my  part,  that  1 put  myself 
up  to  auction,  and  that  my  estimate  shall  be  regulated  by  your  lady- 
ship’s highest  bid.”  Thoroughly  understanding  the  stipulation, 
Lady  Janet  bowed,  and  waited  gravely. 

Gravely,  on  her  side,  Grace  began. 

“lam  afraid  I should  want  more  than  a hundred  pounds,”  she 
said. 

Lady  Janet  made  her  first  bid.  “ 1 think  so  too.” 

“ More,  perhaps,  than  two  hundred?” 

Lady  Janet  made  her  second  bid.  “ Probably.’ 

“ More  than  three  hundred?  Four  hundred?  Five  hundred?” 

Lady  Janet  made  her  highest  bid.  “ Five  hundred  pounds  will 
do,”  she  said. 

In  spite  of  herself,  Grace’s  rising  color  betrayed  her  ungovernable 
excitement.  From  her  earliest  childhood  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  see  shillings  and  sixpences  carefully  considered  before  they  were 
parted  with.  She  had  never  known  her  father  to  possess  so  much 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


173 


as  fire  golden  sovereigns  at  his  own  disposal  (unencumbered  by 
debt)  in  all  her  experience  of  him.  The  atmosphere  in  which  she 
bad  lived  and  breathed  was  the  all-stifling  one  of  genteel  poverty. 
There  was  something  horrible  in  the  greedy  eagerness  of  her  eyes  as 
they  watched  Lady  Janet,  to  see  if  she  was  really  sufficiently  in 
earnest  to  give  away  five  hundred  pounds  sterling  with  a stroke  of 
her  pen. 

Lady  Janet  wrote  the  check  in  a few  seconds,  and  pushed  It  across 
tlie  table. 

Cl  race’s  hungry  eyes  devoured  the  golden  line,  ‘‘  Pay  to  myself 
or  bearer  five  hundred  pounds,''  and  verified  the  signature  beneath, 
“ Jenet  Roy."  Once  sure  of  the  money  whenever  she  chose  to  take 
it,  the  native  meanness  of  her  nature  instantly  asserted  itself.  She 
tossed  her  head,  and  let  the  check  lie  on  the  table,  with  an  overacted 
appearance  of  caring  very  little  whether  she  took  it  or  not. 

“ Your  ladyship  is  not  to  suppose  that  1 snap  at  your  check,"  she 
said. 

Lady  Janet  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  closed  her  eyes.  The 
very  sight  of  Grace  Roseberry  sickened  her.  Her  mind  filled  sud- 
denly with  the  image  of  Mercy.  She  longed  to  feast  her  eyes  again 
on  that  grand  beauty,  to  fill  her  ears  aga^  with  the  melody  of  that 
gentle  voice. 

I require  time  to  consider — in  justice  to  my  own  self-respect," 
Grace  went  on. 

Lady  Janet  wearily  made  a sign,  granting  time  to  consider. 

“ Your  ladyship’::  boudoir  is,  1 presume,  still  at  my  disposal?'* 

Lady  Janet  silently  granted  the  boudoir. 

“ And  your  ladyship's  servants  are  at  my  orders  if  1 have  occa- 
sion to  employ  them?" 

Lady  Janet  suddenly  opened  her  eyes.  “ The  whole  household  is 
at  your  orders!"  she  cried,  furiously.  “ Leave  me!" 

Grace  was  far  from  being  offended.  If  anything,  she  was  grati- 
fied— there  was  a certain  triumph  in  having  stung  Lady  Janet  into 
an  open  outbreak  of  temper.  She  insisted  forthwith  on  another  con- 
dition. 

‘‘  In  the  event  of  my  deciding  to  receive  the  check,"  she  said,  “ I 
cannot,  consistently  with  my  own  self-respect,  permit  it  to  be  deliv- 
ered to  me  otherwise  than  inclosed.  Your  ladyship  will  (if  neces- 
sary) be  so  kind  as  to  inclose  it.  Good-evening." 

She  sauntered  to  the  door,  looking  from  side  ir*  side,  with  an  air 
of  supreme  disparagement,  at  the  priceless  treasures  of  art  which 
adorned  the  walls.  Her  eyes  dropped  superciliously  on  the  carpel 


174 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


(the  dt^ign  of  a famous  French  painter),  as  if  her  feet  condescended  in 
walking  over  it  The  audacity  with  wliich  she  had  entered  the  room 
iiad  been  marked  enough;  it  shrank  to  nothing  before  the  infinitely 
uperior  proportions  of  the  insolence  with  which  she  left  it  The 
mstant  the  door  was  closed  Lady  Janet  rose  from  her  chair.  Eeck- 
iess  of  the  wintry  chill  in  the  outer  air,  she  threw  open  one  of  the 
windows.  “ Pah!*’  she  exclaimed,  with  a shudder  of  disgust,  ‘‘  the 
very  air  of  the  room  is  tainted  by  her!” 

She  returned  to  her  chair.  Her  mood  changed  as  she  sat  down 
again— her  heart  was  with  Mercy  once  more.  Oh,  my  love!”  she 
murmured,  “how  low  I have  stooped,  how  miserably  I have  de- 
graded myself-  and  all  for  You!”  The  bitterness  of  the  retrospect 
was  unenduiable.  The  inbred  force  of  the  woman’s  nature  took 
refuge  from  it  in  an  outburst  of  defiance  and  despair.  “ Whatever 
she  has  done,  that  wretch  deserves  it!  Hot  a living  creature  in  this 
house  shall  say  she  has  deceived  me.  She  hdi^  not  deceived  me — she 
loves  me!  What  do  I care  whether  she  has  given  me  her  true  name 
or  not?  She  has  given  me  her  true  heart.  What  right  had  Julian 
to  play  upon  hei  feelings  and  pry  into  her  secrets?  My  poor  tempt- 
ed, tortured  child!  I won’t  hear  her  confession.  Not  another  word 
shall  she  say  to  any  li  viog  creature.  I am  mistress— I will  forbid  it 
at  once!”  She  snatched  a sheet  of  note-paper  from  the  case;  hesi- 
tated, and  threw  it  from  her  on  the  table.  “ Why  not  send  for  my 
darling?”  she  thought.  “ Why  write?”  She  hesitated  once  more, 
and  resigned  the  idea.  “ No!  I can’t  trust  myself.  1 daren’t  see  her 
yet!” 

She  took  up  the  sheet  of  paper  again,  and  wrote  her  second  mes- 
sage to  Mercy.  This  time  the  note  began  with  a familiar  form  of 
address. 

“My  dear  Child,— I have  had  time  to  think,  and  compose  my- 
self a little,  since  I last  wrote,  requesting  you  to  defer  the  explana- 
tion which  you  bad  promised  me.  I already  understand  (and  ap- 
predate)  the  motives  which  led  you  to  interfere  as  you  did  down 
stairs,  and  I now  ask  you  to  entirely  abandon  the  explanation.  It 
will,  I am  sure,  be  painful  to  you  (for  reasons  of  your  own  into 
which  I have  no  wish  to  inquire)  to  produce  the  person  of  whom 
you  spoke,  and  as  you  know  already,  I myself  am  weary  of  hearing 
of  her.  Besides,  there  is  really  no  need  now  for  you  to  explain  any- 
Ih.ing.  The  stranger  whose  visits  here  have  caused  us  so  much  pain 
and  anxiety  will  trouble  us  no  more.  She  leaves  England  of  her 
ov/n  free  will,  after  a conversation  witli  me  which  has  perfectlj! 
succeeded  in  composing  and  satisfying  her.  Not  a word  more,  my 
dear,  to  me,  or  to  my  nephew,  or  to  any  other  human  creature,  of 
what  has  happened  in  the  dining  room  to-day.  When  we  next  meet, 


THE  ^TEW  MAGDALEK. 


175 


let  it  be  understjod  between  U8  that  the  past  is  henceforth  and  for- 
ever buried  in  oblivion.  This  is  not  only  the  earnest  request — it  is, 
if  necessary,  the  posiitive  command  of  your  mother  and  friend, 

“ Janet  Hoy. 

P.B.— 1 shall  find  opportunities  (before  you  leave  your  room)  of 
speaking  separately  to  my  nephew  and  to  Horace  Holmcroft.  You 
need  dread  no  embarrassment  when  you  next  meet  them.  I will 
not  ask  you  to  answer  my  note  in  writing.  Say  yes,  to  the  maid* 
who  will  bring  it  to  you,  and  I shall  know  we  understand  each 
other.'' 

After  sealing  th<f  envelope  which  inclosed  these  lines.  Lady  Janet 
addressed  it,  as  usual,  to  “ Miss  Grace  Roseberry."  She  was  just 
rising  to  ring  the  bell  when  the  maid  appeared  with  a message  from 
the  boudoir.  The  woman's  tones  and  looks  showed  plainly  that  she 
had  been  made  the  object  of  Grace’s  insolent  self-assertion  as  well 
as  her  mistress. 

“ If  you  please,  my  lady,  the  person  down  stairs  wishes — — " 

Lady  Janet,  frowning  contemptuously,  interrupted  the  message 
at  the  outset.  “ I know  what  the  person  down  stairs  wishes.  She 
has  sent  you  for  a letter  from  me?" 

“ Yes,  my  lady. " 

**  Anything  more?" 

“ She  has  sent  one  of  the  men-servants,  my  lady,  for  a cab.  If 
your  ladyship  had  only  heard  how  she  spoke  to  him!" 

Lady  Janet  intimated  by  a sign  that  she  would  rather  not  hear. 
She  at  once  inclosed  the  check  in  an  undirected  envelope. 

‘‘  Take  that  to  her,"  she  said,  “ and  then  come  back  to  me." 

Dismissing  Grace  Roseberry  from  all  further  consideration,  Lady 
Janet  sat,  with  her  letter  to  Mercy  in  her  hand,  reflecting  on  her 
position,  and  on  the  efforts  which  it  might  still  demand  from  her. 
Pursuing  this  train  of  thought,  it  now  occurred  to  her  that  accident 
might  bring  Horace  and  Mercy  together  at  any  moment,  and  that, 
in  Horace’s  present  frame  of  mind,  he  would  certainly  insist  on  the 
very  explanation  which  it  was  the  foremost  interest  of  her  life  to 
suppress.  The  dread  of  this  disaster  was  in  full  possession  of  her 
when  the  maid  returned. 

“ Where  is  Mr.  Holmcroft?"  she  asked,  the  moment  the  woman 
entered  the  room. 

“ I saw  him  open  the  library  door,  my  lady,  just  now, on  my  way 
upstairs." 

“ Was  he  alone?" 

“ Yes,  my  lady." 

“ Go  to  him,  and  say  I want  to  see  him  here  immediately." 


176 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


The  maid  withdrew  on  her  second  errand.  Lady  Janet  rose  rest 
lessly,  and  closed  the  open  window.  Her  impatient  desire  to  make 
sure  of  Horace  so  completely  mastered  her  that  she  left  her  room, 
and  met  the  woman  in  the  corridor  on  her  return.  Receiving  Hor- 
ace's message  of  excuse,  she  instantly  sent  back  the  peremptory  re- 
joinder, “ Say  that  he  will  oblige  me  to  go  to  him,  if  he  persists  in 
refusing  to  come  to  me.  And,  stay!"  she  added,  remembering  the 
undelivered  letter.  “ Send  Miss  Roseberry’s  maid  here;  I want 
her." 

Left  alone  again,  Lady  Janet  passed  once  or  twice  up  and  down 
the  corridor — then  grew  suddenly  weary  of  the  sight  of  it,  and  went 
back  to  her  room.  The  two  maids  returned  together.  One  of  them, 
having  announced  Horace’s  submission,  was  dismissed.  The  other 
was  sent  to  Mercy’s  room,  with  Lady  Janet’s  letter.  In  a minute 
or  two  the  messenger  appeared  again,  with  the  news  that  she  had 
found  the  room  empty. 

Have  you  any  idea  where  Miss  Roseberry  is?" 

“ No,  my  lady." 

Lady  Janet  reflected  for  a moment.  If  Horace  presented  himself 
without  any  needless  delay,  the  plain  inference  would  be  that  she  had 
separated  himself  from  Mercy.  If  his  appearance  was  suspiciously 
deferred,  she  decaded  on  personally  searching  for  Mercy  in  the  re- 
ception rooms  on  the  lower  floor  of  the  house. 

What  have  you  done  with  the  letter?"  she  asked. 

I left  it  on  Miss  Roseberry’s  table,  my  lady." 

“ Very  well.  Keep  within  hearing  of  the  bell,  in  case  I want  you 
again." 

Another  minute  brought  Lady  Janet’s  suspense  to  an  end.  She 
Iieard  the  welcome  sound  of  a knock  at  her  door  from  a man’s  hand. 
Horace  hurriedly  entered  the  room. 

" What  is  it  you  want  with  me.  Lady  Janet?"  he  inquired,  not 
very  graciously. 

“ Sit  down,  Horace,  and  you  shall  hear." 

Horace  did  not  accept  the  invitation.  ''  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  " if 
I mention  that  I am  rather  in  a hurry?" 

" Why  are  you  in  a hurry?" 

" I have  reasons  for  wishing  to  see  Grace  as  soon  as  possible." 

“And  1 have  reasons,"  Lady  Janet  rejoined,  “for  wishing  to 
speak  to  you  about  Grace  before  you  see  her;  serious  reasons.  Sit 
down." 

Horace  started.  “ Serious  reasons?"  he  repeated.  “You  sur- 
prise me." 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


m 


1 shall  surprise  you  still  more  before  I have  done/’ 

Their  eyes  met  as  Lady  Janet  answered  in  those  terms.  Horace 
observed  signsof  agitation  in  her,  which  he  now  noticed  for  the  first 
time.  Ilis  face  darkened  with  an  expression  of  sullen  distrust — and 
he  took  the  chair  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

LADY  JANET’S  L E T T E H . 

The  narrative  leaves  Lady  Janet  and  Horace  Holmcroft  together, 
and  returns  to  Julian  and  Mercy  in  the  library. 

An  interval  passed— a long  interval,  measured  by  the  impatient 
reckoning  of  suspense— after  the  cab  which  had  taken  Grace  Rose- 
berry  away  had  left  the  house.  The  minutes  followed  each  other; 
and  still  the  warning  sound  of  Horace’s  footstep  was  not  heard  on 
the  marble  pavement  of  the  hall.  By  common  (though  unexpressed) 
consent  Julian  and  Mercy  avoided  touching  upon  the  one  subject  on 
which  they  were  interested  in  alike.  With  their  thoughts  fixed 
secretly  in  vain  speculation  on  the  nature  of  the  interview  which 
was  then  taking  place  in  Lady  Janet’s  room,  they  tried  to  speak  on 
topics  indifferent  to  both  of  them— tried  and  failed,  and  tried  again. 
In  a last  and  longest  pause  of  silence  between  them,  the  next  event 
happened.  The  door  from  the  hall  was  softly  and  suddenly  opened. 
Was  it  Horace?  No—not  even  yet.  The  person  who  had  opened 
the  door  was  Mercy’s  maid. 

My  lady’s  love,  miss;  and  will  you  please  to  read  this  directly?” 

Giving  her  message  in  those  terms,  the  woman  produced  from  the 
pocket  of  her  apron  Lady  Janet’s  second  letter  to  Mercy,  with  a strip 
of  paper  oddly  pinned  round  the  envelope.  Mercy  detached  the 
paper,  and  found  on  the  innerside  some  lines  in  pencil,  hurriedly 
written  in  Lady  Janet’s  hand.  They  ran  thus: 

“Don’t  lose  a moment  in  reading  my  letter.  And  mind  this, 
when  H.  returns  to  you — meet  him  firmly;  say  nothing.” 

Enlightened  by  the  warning  words  which  Julian  had  spoken  to 
her,  Mercy  was  at  no  loss  to  place  the  right  interpretation  on  those 
strange  lines.  Instead  of  immediately  opening  the  letter,  she  stopped 
the  maid  at  the  library  door.  Julian’s  suspicion  of  the  most  trifling 
events  that  were  taking  place  in  the  house  had  found  its  way  from 
liis  mind  to  hers.  “Wait!”  she  said.  “ I don’t  understand  what 


178 


THE  HEW  MAGDA LEH. 


ts  going  on  up  stairs;  1 want  to  ask  you  something/*  The  woman 
came  back — not  very  willingly. 

“ How  did  you  know  T was  here?**  Mercy  inquired. 

If  you  please,  miss,  her  ladyship  ordered  me  to  take  the  letter  to 
you  some  little  time  since.  You  were  not  in  your  room,  and  I left 
it  on  your  table — ** 

I understand  that.  But  how  came  you  to  bring  the  letter 
here?** 

“ My  lady  rang  for  me,  miss.  Before  I could  knock  at  her  door, 
she  came  out  into  the  corridor  with  that  morsel  of  paper  in  her 
hand — ** 

So  as  to  keep  you  from  entering  her  room?’* 

“ Yes,  miss.  Her  ladyship  wrote  on  the  paper  in  a great  hurry, 
and  told  me  to  pin  it  round  the  letter  that  I had  left  in  your  room. 
I was  to  take  them  both  together  to  you,  and  to  let  nobody  see  me. 

‘ You  will  find  Miss  Roseberry  in  the  library  * (her  ladyship  says), 
‘ and  run,  run,  run!  there  isn’t  a moment  to  lose!*  Those  were  her 
own  words,  miss.” 

“ Did  you  hear  anything  in  the  room  before  Lady  Janet  came  out 
and  met  you?’* 

The  woman  hesitated,  and  looked  at  Julian.  **  I hardly  know 
whether  I ought  to  tell  you,  miss.” 

Julian  turned  away  to  leave  the  library.  Mercy  stopped  him  by 
a motion  of  her  hand. 

“You  know  that  I shall  not  get  you  into  any  trouble,”  she  said, 
to  the  maid.  “ And  you  may  speak  quite  safely  before  Mr.  Julian 
Gray.”  Thus  reassured  the  maid  spoke. 

“ To  own  the  truth,  miss,  I heard  Mr.  Holmcroft  in  my  lady’s 
room.  His  voice  sounded  as  if  he  was  angry.  I may  say  they  were 
both  angry— Mr.  Holmcroft  and  my  lady.”  (She  turned  to  Julian.) 
“ And  just  before  her  ladyship  came  out,  sir,  I heard  your  name, 
as  if  it  was  you  they  were  having  words  about.  I can’t  exactly  say 
what  it  was;  I hadn’t  time  to  hear.  And  1 didn't  listen,  miss;  the 
door  was  ajar,  and  the  voices  were  so  loud  nobody  could  help  hear- 
ing them.” 

It  was  useless  to  detain  the  woman  any  longer.  Having  given  het 
leave  to  withdraw,  Mercy  turned  to  Julian.  “ Why  were  they 
quarreling  about  you?”  she  asked.  Julian  pointed  to  the  unopened 
letter  in  her  hand. 

“ The  answer  to  your  question  may  be  there,”  he  said.  “ Read 
the  letter  while  you  have  the  chance.  And  if  1 can  advise  you,  say 
80  at  once.” 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


179 


With  a strange  reluctance  she  opened  the  envelope.  With  a sink- 
ing heart  sbe  read  the  lines  in  which  Lady  Janet,  as  “ mother  and 
friend/’  commanded  her  absolutely  to  suppress  the  confession  which 
sbe  had  pledged  herself  to  make  in  the  sacred  interests  of  justice  and 
truth.  A low  cry  of  despair  escaped  her,  as  the  cruel  complication 
in  her  position  revealed  itself  in  all  its  .unmerited  hardship.  “ Oh, 
Lady  Janet,  Lady  Janet!”  she  thought,  ‘‘there  was  but  one  trial 
more  left  in  my  hard  lot — and  it  comes  to  me  from  you 

She  handed  the  letter  to  Julian.  He  took  it  from  her  in  silence. 
His  pale  complexion  turned  paler  still  as  he  read  it.  His  eyes  rested 
on  her  compassionately  as  he  handed  it  back. 

“To  my  mind,”  he  said,  “Lady  Janet  herself  sets  all  further 
doubt  at  rest.  Her  letter  tells  me  what  she  wanted  when  she  sent 
for  Horace,  and  why  my  name  was  mentioned  between  them.” 

“ Tell  me!”  cried  Mercy,  eagerly. 

He  did  not  immediately  answer  her.  He  sat  down  again  in  the 
chair  by  her  side,  and  pointed  to  the  letter. 

“ Has  Lady  Janet  shaken  your  resolution?”  he  asked, 

“ She  has  strengthened  my  resolution,”  Mercy  answered.  “.She 
has  added  a new  bitterness  to  my  remorse.” 

She  did  not  mean  it  harshly,  but  the  reply  sounded  harshly  in 
Julian’s  ears.  It  stirred  the  generous  impulses,  which  were  the 
strongest  impulses  in  his  nature.  He  who  had  once  pleaded  with 
Mercy  for  compassionate  consideration  for  Lady  Janet.  With  per- 
suasive gentleness  he  drew  a little  nearer,  and  laid  hio  hand  on  her 
arm. 

“ Don’t  judge  her  harshly,”  he  said.  “ She  is  wrong,  miserably 
wrong.  She  has  recklessly  degraded  herself;  she  has  recklessly 
tempted  you.  Still,  is  it  generous — is  it  even  just — to  hold  her  re- 
sponsible for  deliberate  sin?  She  is  at  the  close  of  her  days;  she 
can  feel  no  new  affection ; she  can  never  replace  you.  View  her 
position  in  that  light,  and  you  will  see  (as  I see)  that  it  is  no  base 
motive  which  has  led  her  astray.  Think  of  her  wounded  heart  and 
her  wasted  life — and  say  to  yourself  forgivingly,  She  loves  me!” 
Mercy’s  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

“I  do  say  it!”  she  answered.  “Not  forgivingly — it  is  1 who 
have  need  of  forgiveness.  I say  it  gratefully  when  I think  of  her 
— 1 say  it  with  shame  and  sorrow  when  I think  of  myself.” 

He  took  her  hand  for  the  first  time.  He  looked,  guiltlessly 
looked,  at  her  downcast  face.  He  spoke  as  he  had  spoken  at  the 
memorable  interview  between  them  which  had  made  a new  woman 
of  her. 


180 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


‘‘  I can  imagine  no  crueler  trial/'  he  said,  “ than  the  trial  that  is 
now  before  you.  The  benefactress  to  whom  you  owe  everything 
asks  nothing  from  you  but  your  silence.  The  person  whom  you 
have  wronged  is  no  longer  present  to  strniulate  your  resolution  to 
speak.  Horace  himself  (unless  I am  entirely  mistaken)  will  not 
hold  you  to  the  explanation  that  you  have  promised.  The  tempta- 
tion to  keep  your  false  position  in  this  house  is,  I do  not  scruple  to 
say,  all  but  irresistible.  Sister  and  friend!  can  you  still  justify  my 
faith  in  you?  Will  you  still  own  the  truth,  without  the  base  fear  of 
discovery  to  drive  you  to  it?" 

She  lifted  her  head,  with  the  steady  light  of  resolution  shining 
again  in  her  grand  gray  eyes.  Her  low,  sweet  voice  answered  him, 
without  a faltering  note  in  it: 

‘‘  1 will!" 

“ You  will  do  justice  to  the  woman  whom  you  have  wronged— 
unworthy  as  she  is;  powerless  as  she  is  to  expose  you?" 

‘‘I  will!" 

"You  will  sacrifice  everything  you  have  gained  by  the  fraud  to 
the  sacred  duty  of  atonement?  You  will  suffer  anything  — even 
though  you  olf'end  the  second  mother  who  has  loved  you  and  sinned 
for  you — rather  than  suffer  the  degradation  of  yourself?" 

Her  hand  closed  firmly  on  his.  Again,  and  for  the  last  time  she 
answered,  " I will." 

His  voice  had  not  trembled  yet.  It  failed  him  now.  His  next 
words  were  spoken  in  faint  whispering  tones — to  himself;  not  to 
her. 

" Thank  God  for  this  day!"  he  said.  " I have  6een  of  some  serv- 
ice to  one  of  the  noblest  of  God’s  creatures!" 

Some  subtle  influence,  as  he  spoke,  passed  from  his  hand  to  hers. 
It  trembled  through  her  nerves;  it  entwined  itself  mysteriously  with 
the  flnest  sensibilities  in  her  nature : it  softly  opened  her  heart  to  a 
first  vague  surmising  of  the  devotion  that  she  had  inspired  in  him. 
A faint  glow  of  color,  lovely  in  its  faintness,  stole  over  her  face  and 
neck.  Her  breathing  quickened  tremblingly.  She  drew  her  hand 
away  from  him,  and  sighed  when  she  had  released  it.  He  rose  sud- 
denly to  his  feet  and  left  her,  without  a word  or  a look,  walking 
slowly  down  the  length  of  the  room.  When  he  turned  and  came 
back  to  her,  his  face  was  composed;  he  was  master  of  himself 
again. 

Mercy  was  the  first  to  speak.  She  turned  the  conversation  from 
herself  by  reverting  to  the  proceedings  in  Lady  Janet’s  room. 

’'You  spoke  of  Horace  just  now,"  she  said,  "in  terms  whidi 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


181 


surprised  me.  You  appeared  to  think  that  he  would  not  hold  me 
to  my  explanation.  Is  that  one  of  the  conclusions  which  you  draw 
from  Lady  Janet’s  letter?” 

“Most  assuredly,”  Julian  answered.  “ You  will  see  the  con- 
clusion as  I see  it  if  we  return  for  a moment  to  Grace  Roseberry’s 
departure  from  the  house.” 

Mercy  interrupted  him  there.  “ Can  you  guess,”  she  asked, 
“ how  Lady  Janet  prevailed  upon  her  to  go?” 

“ I hardly  like  to  own  it,”  said  Julian.  “ There  is  an  expression 
in  the  letter  which  suggests  to  me  that  Lady  Janet  has  offered  her 
money,  and  that  she  has  taken  the  bribe/’ 

“ Oh,  1 can’t  think  that!” 

“ Let  us  return  to  Horace.  Miss  Roseberry  once  out  of  the 
house,  but  one  serious  obstacle  is  left  in  Lady  Janet’s  way.  That 
obstacle  is  Horace  Holmcroft.” 

“ How  is  Horace  an  obstacle?” 

“ He  is  an  obstacle  in  this  sense.  He  is  under  an  engagement  to 
marry  you  in  a week’s  time;  and  Lady  Janet  is  determined  to  keep 
him  (as  she  is  determnied  to  keep  every  one  else)  in  ignorance  of  the 
truth.  She  will  do  that  without  scruple.  But  the  inbred  sense  of 
honor  in  her  is  not  utterly  silenced  yet.  She  cannot,  she  dare  not, 
let  Horace  make  you  his  wife  under  the  false  impression  that  you 
are  Colonel  Roseberry’s  daughter.  You  see  the  situation?  On  the 
one  hand,  she  won’t  enlighten  him.  On  the  other  hand,  she  cannot 
allow  him  to  marry  you  blindfold.  In  this  emergency  what  is  she 
to  do?  There  is  but  one  alternative  that  I can  discover.  She  must 
persuade  Horace  (or  she  must  irritate  Horace)  into  acting  for  him- 
self, and  breaking  off  the  engagement  on  his  own  responsibility.” 

Mercy  stopped  him.  “ Impossible!”  she  cried,  warmly.  “ Im- 
possible!” 

“ Look  again  at  her  letter,”  Julian  rejoined.  “ It  tells  you  plain- 
ly that  you  need  fear  no  embarrassment  when  you  next  meet  Horace. 
If  words  mean  anything,  those  words  mean  that  he  will  not  claim 
from  you  the  confidence  which  you  have  promised  to  repose  in 
him.  On  what  condition  is  it  possible  for  him  to  abstain  from  do- 
ing that?  On  the  one  condition  that  you  have  ceased  to  represent 
the  first  and  foremost  interest  of  his  life.” 

Mercy  still  held  firm.  “You  are  wronging  Lady  Janet,”  she 
said.  Julian  smiled  sadly. 

“ Try  to  look  at  it,”  he  answered,  “ from  Lady  Janet’s  point  of 
view.  Do  you  suppose  8he  sees  anything  derogatory  to  her  in  at- 
temptipg  to  break  off  the  marriage?  I will  answer  for  it,  she  be- 


182 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


lieves  she  is  doing  you  a kindness.  In  one  sense  it  would  be  ft 
kindness  to  spare  you  the  shame  of  a humiliating  confession,  and 
to  save  you  (possibly)  from  being  rejected  to  your  face  by  the 
man  you  love.  In  my  opinion,  the  thing  is  done  already.  I 
have  reasons  of  my  own  for  believing  that  my  aunt  will  succeed 
far  more  easily  than  she  could  anticipate.  Horace’s  temper  will  help 
her.”  Mercy’s  mind  began  to  yield  to  him,  in  spite  of  herself; 

What  do  you  mean  by  Horace’s  temper?”  she  inquired. 

” Must  you  ask  me  that?”  he  said,  drawing  back  a little  from 
her. 

” I must.” 

” I mean  by  Horace’s  temper,  Horace’s  unworthy  distrust  of  the 
interest  that  I feel  in  you.” 

She  instantly  understood  him.  And  more  than  that,  she  secretl> 
admired  him  for  the  scrupulous  delicacy  with  which  he  had  ex- 
pressed himself.  Another  man  would  not  have  thought  of  sparing 
her  in  that  way.  Another  man  would  have  said,  plainly,  ‘‘  Koia®e 
is  jealous  of  me.” 

.1  ulian  did  not  wait  for  her  to  answer  him.  He  consideratoiy  went 
on. 

” For  the  reason  that  I have  just  mentioned,”  he  said,  ” Horace 
will  be  easily  irritated  into  taking  a course  which,  in  his  calmer  mo- 
ments, nothing  would  induce  him  to  adopt.  Until  I heard  what 
your  maid  said  to  you  1 had  thought  (for  youi'  sake)  of  retiring  be- 
fore he  joined  you  here.  Now  I know  that  my  name  has  been  intro- 
duced, and  has  made  mischief  up-stairs,  i.  teel  the  necessity  (for 
your  sake  again)  of  meeting  Horace  and  nis  temper  face  to  face  be- 
fore you  see  him.  Let  me.  if  I can,  prepare  him  to  hear  you  with- 
out any  angry  feeling  in  his  mind  toward  me.  Do  you  object  to 
retire  to  the  next  room  for  a few  mbiutes  in  the  event  of  his  coming 
back  to  the  library  ? ” 

Mercy’s  courage  instantly  rose  with  the  emergency.  She  refused 
to  leave  the  two  men  together. 

” Don’t  think  me  insensioitj  tO  your  kindness,”  she  said.  ” If  1 
leave  you  with  Horace,  I may  expose  you  to  insult.  I refuse  to  do 
that.  What  makes  you  doubt  his  coming  back?” 

” His  piolonged  absence  makes  me  doubt  it,”  Julian  replied.  ” In 
my  belief,  the  marriage  is  broken  off.  He  may  go  as  Grace  Rose- 
berry  has  gone.  \ou  may  never  see  him  again.” 

The  instant  the  opinion  was  uttered,  it  was  practically  contra- 
dicted by  the  man  himself.  Horace  opened  the  library  door. 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH. 


183 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  CONFE  SSION. 

He  stopped  just  inside  the  door.  His  first  look  was  for  Mercy; 
his  second  look  was  for  J ulian. 

“ 1 knew  it  I''  he  said,  with  an  assumption  of  sardonic  compos- 
ure. “ If  I could  only  have  persuaded  Lady  Janet  to  bet,  1 should 
have  won  a hundred  pounds.’^  He  advanced  to  Julian,  with  a sud- 
den change  from  irony  to  anger.  “ AVould  you  like  to  hear  what 
the  bet  was?”  he  asked. 

“ I should  prefer  seeing  you  able  to  control  yourself,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  this  lady,”  Julian  answered,  quietly. 

” 1 offered  to  lay  Lady  Janet  two  hundred  pounds  to  one,”  Hor- 
ace proceeded,  ” that  I should  find  you  here,  making  love  to  Miss 
Roseberry  behind  my  back.” 

Mercy  interfered  before  Julian  could  reply. 

“If  you  cannot  speak  without  insulting  one  of  us,”  she  said, 
“ permit  mie  to  request  that  you  will  not  address  yourself  to  Mr. 
Julian  Gray.”  Horace  bowed  to  her  with  a mockery  of  respect. 

“Pray  don’t  alarm  yourself— I am  pledged  to  be  scrupulously 
civil  to  both  of  you,”  he  said.  “ Lady  Janet  only  allowed  me  to 
leave  her  on  condition  of  my  promising  to  behave  with  perfect 
politeness.  What  else  can  I do?  1 have  two  privileged  people  to 
deal  with— a parson  and  a woman.  The  parson’s  profession  pro- 
tects him,  and  the  woman’s  sex  protects  her.  You  have  got  me  at 
a disadvantage,  and  you  both  of  you  know  it.  I beg  to  apologize  if 
I have  forgotten  the  clergyman’s  profession  and  the  lady’s  sex.” 

“You  have  forgotten  more  than  that,”  said  Julian.  “You 
have  forgotten  that  you  were  born  a gentleman  and  bred  a 
man  of  honor.  So  far  as  I am  concerned,  I don’t  ask  you  to 
remember  that  I am  a clergyman— I obtrude  my  profession  on  no- 
body—I only  ask  you  to  remember  your  birth  and  your  breeding. 
It  is  quite  bad  enough  to  cruelly  and  un j nstly  suspect  an  old  friend 
who  has  never  forgotten  what  he  owes  to  you  and  to  himself.  But 
it  is  still  more  unworthy  of  you  to  acknowledge  those  suspicions 
in  the  hearing  of  a woman  whom  your  own  choice  has  doubly  bound 
you  to  respect.”  He  stopped.  The  two  eyed  each  other  for  a mo- 
ment in  silence. 

It  was  impossible  for  Mercy  to  look  at^hem,  as  she  was  looking 


184 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEN-. 


DOW,  without  drawing  the  inevitable  comparison  between  the  manly 
force  and  dignity  of  Julian  and  the  womanish  malice  and  irritability 
of  Horace.  A last  faithful  impulse  of  loyalty  toward  the  man  to 
whom  she  had  been  betrothed  impelled  her  to  part  them,  before 
Horace  had  hopelessly  degraded  himself  in  her  estimation  by  con- 
trast with  Julian. 

“ You  had  better  wait  to  speak  to  me,”  «he  said  to  him,  until 
we  are  alone.” 

'‘Certainly,”  Horace  answered,  with  a sneer,  “if  Mr.  Julian 
Gray  will  permit  it.” 

Mercy  turned  to  Julian,  with  a look  which  said  plainly,  “ Pity  us 
both,  and  leave  us!” 

“ Do  you  wish  me  to  go?”  he  asked. 

“ Add  to  all  your  other  kindnesses  to  me,”  she  answered.  “ Wait 
for  me  in  that  room.” 

She  pointed  to  the  door  that  led  into  the  dining-room.  Julian  hesi- 
tated. 

“You  promise  to  let  me  know  it  if  I can  be  of  the  smallest  serv- 
ice to  you?”  he  said. 

“Yes,  yes!”  She  followed  him  as  he  withdrew,  and  added, 
rapidly,  in  a whisper,  “ Leave  the  door  ajar!” 

He  made  no  answer.  As  she  returned  to  Horace  he  entered  the 
dining-room.  The"^one  concession  he  could  make  to  her  he  did 
make.  He  closed  the  door  so  noiselessly  that  not  even  her  quick 
hearing  could  detect  that  he  had  shut  it.  Mercy  spoke  to  Horace, 
without  waiting  to  let  him  speak  first. 

“ 1 have  promised  you  an  explanation  of  my  conduct,”  she  said, 
in  accents  that  trembled  a little  in  spite  of  herself.  “ I am  ready  to 
perform  my  promise.” 

“ 1 have  a question  to  ask  you  before  you  do  that,”  he  rejoined. 
“ Can  you  speak  the  truth?” 

“ I am  wa  iting  to  speak  the  truth.  ” 

“ I will  give  you  an  opportunity.  Are  you  or  are  you  not  in  love 
with  Julian  Gray?” 

“ You  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  ask  the  question!” 

“ Is  that  your  only  answer?” 

“ I have  never  been  unfaithful  to  you,  Horace,  even  in  thought. 
If  I had  not  been  true  to  you,  should  I feel  my  position  as  you  see  1 
feel  it  now?” 

He  smiled  bitterly.  “ I have  my  own  opinion  of  your  fidelity  and 
of  his  honor,”  he  said.  “You  couldn’t  even  send  him  into  the  next 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


185 


toom  without  whispering  to  him  first.  Never  mind  that  now.  At 
least  you  know  that  Julian  Gray  is  in  love  with  you.” 

“ Mr.  Julian  Gray  has  never  breathed  a word  of  it  to  me.” 

“ A man  can  show  a woman  that  he  loves  her,  without  saying  it 
in  words.” 

Mercy’s  power  of  endurance  began  to  fail  her.  Not  even  Grace 
Roseberry  had  spoken  more  insultingly  to  her  of  Julian  than  Hor- 
ace was  speaking  now.  “ Whoever  says  that  of  Mr.  Julian  Gray, 
lies!”  she  answered,  warmly. 

“ Then  Lady  Janet  lies,”  Horace  retorted. 

“ Lady  Janet  never  said  it!  Lady  Janet  is  incapable  of  saying 
it!” 

“ She  may  not  have  said  it  in  so  many  words;  but  she  never 
denied  it  when  1 said  it.  I reminded  her  of  the  time  when  Julian 
Gray  first  heard  from  me  that  1 was  going  to  marry  you : he  was  so 
overwhelmed  that  he  was  barely  capable  of  being  civil  to  me.  Lady 
Janet  was  present,  and  could  not  deny  it.  1 asked  her  if  she  had 
observed,  since  then,  signs  of  a confidential  understanding  between 
you  two.  She  could  not  deny  the  signs.  1 asked  if  she  had  ever 
found  you  two  together  She  could  not  deny  that  she  had  found 
you  together,  this  very  day,  under  circumstances  which  justified 
suspicion.  Yes!  yes!  Look  as  angry  as  you  like!  you  don’t  know 
what  has  been  going  on  up  stairs.  Lady  Janet  is  bent  on  breaking 
off  our  engagement — and  Julian  Gray  is  at  the  bottom  of  it.” 

As  to  Julian,  Horace  was  utterly  wrong.  But  as  to  Lady  Janet, 
he  echoed  the  warning  words  which  Julian  himself  had  spoken  to 
Mercy.  She  was  staggered,  but  she  still  held  to  her  own  opinion. 
” I don’t  believe  it,”  she  said,  firmly.  He  advanced  a step,  and 
fixed  his  angry  eyes  on  her  searchingly. 

” Do  you  know  why  Lady  Janet  sent  for  me?”  he  asked. 

“Ho.” 

“ Then  I will  tell  you.  Lady  Janet  is  a stanch  friend  of  yours, 
there  is  no  denying  that.  She  wished  to  inform  me  that  she  had 
altered  her  mind  about  your  promised  explanation  of  your  conduct. 
She  said,  ‘ Refiection  has  convinced  me  that  no  explanation  is  re- 
quired; 1 have  laid  my  positive  commands  on  my  adopted  daughter 
that  no  explanation  shall  take  place.’  Has  she  done  that?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Now  observe!  I waited  till  she  had  finished,  and  then  I said, 

' What  have  I to  do  with  this?’  Lady  Janet  has  one  merit — she 
speaks  out.  * You  are  to  do  as  I do,’  she  answered.  ‘ You  are  to 
consider  that  no  explanation  is  required,  and  you  are  to  consign  the 


186 


THE  ISTEW  MAGDALEH. 


whole  matter  to  oblivion  from  this  time  forth.’  ' Are  you  serious?* 
I disked.  ‘ Quite  serious.’  ‘ In  that  case  1 have  to  inform  your  lady, 
ship  that  you  Insist  on  more  than  you  may  suppose:  you  insist  on 
my  breaking  my  engagement  to  Miss  Roseberry.  Either  I am  to 
have  the  explanation  that  she  has  promised  me,  or  I refuse  to  marry 
her.’  How  do  you  think  Lady  Janet  took  that?  She  shut  up  her 
lips,  and  she  spread  out  her  hands,  and  she  looked  at  me  as  much 
as  to  say,  ‘ Just  as  you  please!  Refuse  if  you  like;  it’s  nothing  to 
me!’  ” 

He  paused  for  a moment.  Mercy  remained  silent,  on  her  side; 
she  foresaw  what  was  coming.  Mistaken  in  supposing  that  Hor- 
ace had  left  the  house,  Julian  had,  beyond  all  doubt,  been  equally 
in  error  in  concluding  that  he  had  been  entrapped  into  breaking 
off  the  engagement  up  stairs. 

“ Do  you  understand  me  so  far?”  Horace  asked. 

‘‘  I understand  you  perfectly.” 

” 1 will  not  trouble  you  much  longer,”  he  resumed.  ” I said  to 
Lady  Janet,  ‘ Be  so  good  as  to  answer  me  in  plain  words.  Do  you 
still  insist  on  closing  Miss  Roseberry ’s  lips?’  ‘I  still  insist,’ 
she  answered.  ‘ ISTo  explanation  is  required.  If  you  are  base 
enough  to  suspect  your  betrothed  wife,  I am  just  enough  to 
believe  in  my  adopted  daughter.’  I replied — and  1 beg  you  will 
dve  your  best  attention  to  what  I am  now  going  to  say— I replied 
to  that,  ‘ It  is  not  fair  to  charge  me  with  suspecting  her.  I don’t 
understand  her  confidential  relations  7vith  Julian  Gray,  and  I don’t 
understand  her  language  and  conduct  in  the  presence  of  the  police 
officer.  I claim  it  as  my  right  to  be  satisfied  on  both  these  points — 
in  the  character  of  the  man  who  is  to  marry  her.  ’ There  was  my 
answer.  I spare  you  all  that  follotved.  I only  repeat  what  I said 
to  Lady  Janet.  She  has  commanded  you  to  be  silent.  If  you  obey 
her  commands,  I owe  it  to  myself  and  I owe  it  to  my  family  to  re- 
lease you  from  your  engagement.  Choose  between  your  duty  to 
Lady  Janet  and  your  duty  to  Me.” 

He  bad  mastered  his  temper  at  last;  he  spoke  with  dignity,  and 
bespoke  to  the  point.  His  position  was  unassailable:  he  claimed 
nothing  but  his  right. 

” My  choice  was  made,”  Mercy  answered,  ” when  I gave  yon 
my  promise  up  stairs.” 

She  waited  a little,  struggling  to  control  herself  on  the  brink  of 
the  terrible  revelation  that  was  coming.  Her  eyes  dropped  before 
his,  her  heart  beat  faster  and  faster;  but  she  struggled  bravely. 
With  a desperate  courage  she  faced  the  position.  ” If  you  are  ready 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


187 


to  listen/’  she  went  on,  I am  ready  to  tell  you  why  1 insisted  on 
having  the  police  officer  sent  out  of  the  house/'  Horace  held  up  his 
hand  warningly. 

‘‘  Stop!"  he  said;  ‘‘  that  is  not  all/' 

His  infatuated  jealousy  of  Julian  (fatally  misinterpreting  her  agi- 
tation) distrusted  her  at  the  very  outset.  She  had  limited  herself  to 
clearing  up  the  one  question  of  her  interference  with  the  officer  of 
justice.  The  other  question  of  her  relations  with  Julian  she  had 
deliberately  passed  over.  Horace  instantly  drew  his  own  ungenerous 
conclusion. 

“ Let  us  not  misunderstand  one  another,"  he  said.  “The  ex- 
planation of  your  conduct  in  the  other  room  is  only  one  of  the  ex- 
planations which  you  owe  me.  You  have  something  else  to  account 
for.  Let  us  begin  with  that  if  you  please."  She  looked  at  him  in 
unaffected  surprise. 

“ What  else  have  1 to  account  for?"  she  asked. 

He  again  repeated  his  reply  to  Lady  Janet. 

“ I have  told  you  already,"  he  said.’  “ I don't  understand  your 
contidential  relations  with  Julian  Gray." 

Mercy's  color  rose;  Mercy's  eyes  began  to  brighten. 

“ Don’t  return  to  that  I"  she  cried,  with  an  impressible  outbreak 
of  disgust.  “ Don't,  for  God's  sake,  make  me  despise  you  at  such 
a moment  as  this!" 

His  obstinacy  only  gathered  fresh  encouragement  from  that  appeal 
to  his  better  sense. 

“ I insist  on  returning  to  it." 

She  had  resolved  to  bear  anything  from  him — as  her  fit  punish 
ment  for  the  deception  of  which  she  had  been  guilty.  But  it  was 
not  in  womanhood  (at  the  moment  when  the  first  words  of  her  con- 
fession were  trembling  on  her  lips)  to  endure  Horace’s  unworthy 
suspicion  of  her.  She  rose  from  her  seat  and  met  his  eye  firmly. 

“ I refuse  to  degrade  myself,  and  to  degrade  Mr.  Julian  Gray,  by 
answering  you,", she  said. 

“Consider  what  you  are  doing,"  he  rejoined.  “Change  your 
mind,  before  it  is  too  late!" 

“You  have  had  my  reply." 

Those  resolute  words,  that  steady  resistance,  seemed  to  infuriate 
liim.  He  caught  her  roughly  by  the  arm. 

“ You  are  as  false  as  hell!"  he  cried.  “ It's  all  over  between  you 
and  me!" 

The  loud  threatening  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  penetrated 


188 


THE  ]^EW  MAGDALEK. 

through,  the  closed  door  of  the  dining-room.  The  door  instantly 
opened.  Julian  returned  to  the  library. 

He  had  just  set  foot  in  the  room,  when  there  was  a knock  at  the 
other  door— the  door  that  opened  on  the  hall.  One  of  the'men-serv- 
ants  appeared  with  a telegraphic  message  in  his  hand.  Mercy  was 
the  first  to  see  it.  It  was  the  matron’s  answer  to  the  letter  which 
she  had  sent  to  the  Refuge. 

For  Mr.  Julian  Gray?”  she  asked. 

“Yes,  miss.” 

“ Give  it  to  me.” 

She  signed  to  the  man  to  withdraw,  and  herself  gave  the  telegram 
to  Julian.  “It  is  addressed  to  you,  at  my  request,”  she  said. 
“ You  will  recognize  the  name  of  the  person  who  sends  it,  and  you 
will  find  a message  in  it  for  me.”  Horace  interfered  before  Julian 
could  open  the  telegram. 

“ Another  private  understanding  between  you!”  he  said.  “ Give 
me  that  telegram.  ” 

Julian  looked  at  him  with  quiet  contempt. 

“ It  is  directed  to  Me,”  he  answered — and  opened  the  envelope. 

The  message  inside  was  expressed  in  these  terms:  “ I am  as  deeply 
interested  in  her  as  you  are.  Say  that  I have  received  her  letter,  and 
that  I welcome  her  back  to  the  Refuge  with  all  my  heart.  I have 
business  this  evening  in  the  neighborhood.  I will  call  for  her  my- 
self at  Mablethorpe  House.” 

The  message  explained  itself.  Of  her  own  free-will  she  had  made 
the  expiation  complete!  Of  her  own 'free-will  she  was  going  back 
to  the  martyrdom  of  her  old  life!  Bound  as  he  knew  himself  to  be 
to  let  no  compromising  word  or  action  escape  him  in  the  presence  of 
Horace,  the  irrepressible  expression  of  Julian’s  admiration  glowed 
in  his  eyes  as  they  rested  on  Mercy.  Horace  detected  the  look.  He 
sprang  forward  and  tried  to  snatch  the  telegram  out  of  Julian ’s’ hand. 

“ Give  it  to  me!”  he  said.  “ I will  have  it!” 

Julian  silently  put  him  back  at  arm’s-length.  Maddened  with  rage, 
he  lifted  his  hand  threateningly.  “ Give  it  to  me!”  he  repeated 
between  his  set  teeth,  “ or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you!” 

“ Give  it  to  meP^  said  Mercy,  suddenly  placing  herself  between 
them. 

Julian  gave  it.  She  turned,  and  offered  it  to  Horace,  looking  rli 
him  with  a steady  eye,  holding  it  out  to  him  with  a steady  hand. 

“ Read  it,”  she  said. 

Julian’s  generous  nature  pitied  the  man  who  had  insulted  hin? 
Julian’s  great  heart  only  remembered  the  friend  of  former  times. 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH. 


189 


“ Spare  him  V*  he  said  to  Mercy.  “ Kemember  he  ic  unprepared.  ” 

She  neither  answered  nor  moved.  Nothing  stirred  the  horrible 
torpor  of  her  resignation  to  her  fate.  She  knew  that  the  time  had 
come.  Julian  appealed  to  Horace. 

Don’t  read  it!”  he  cried.  Hear  what  she  has  to  say  first!” 

Horace’s  hand  answered  him  with  a contemptuous  gesture. 
Horace’s  eyes  devoured,  word  by  word,  the  Matron’s  message.  He 
looked  up  when  he  had  read  it  through.  There  was  a ghastly  change 
in  his  face  as  he  turned  it  on  Mercy.  She  stood  between  the  two 
men  like  a statue.  The  life  in  her  seemed  to  have  died  out,  except  in 
her  eyes.  Her  eyes  rested  on  Horace  with  a steady  glittering  calm- 
ness. The  silence  was  only  broken  by  the  low  murmuring  of  Julian’s, 
voice.  His  face  was  hidden  in  his  hands— he  was  praying  for  them. 
Horace  spoke,  laying  his  finger  on  the  telegram.  His  voice  had 
changed  with  the  change  in  his  face.  The  tone  was  low  and  trem- 
bling: no  one  would  have  recognized  it  as  the  tone  of  Horace’s  voice. 

“ What  does  this  mean?”  he  said  to  Mercy.  “It  can’t  be  for 
you?” 

“ It  for  me.” 

“ What  have  You  to  do  with  the  Befuge?” 

Without  a change  in  her  face,  without  a movement  in  her  limbs, 
she  spoke  the  fatal  words; 

“ I have  come  from  a Kefuge,  and  I am  going  back  to  a Befuge. 
Mr.  Horace  Holmcroft,  I am  Mercy  Merrick.” 


CHAPTEB  XXVI. 

GREAT  HEART  AND  LITTLE  HEART. 

There  was  a pause. 

The  moments  passed— and  not  one  of  the  three  moved.  The  mo- 
ments passed— and  not  one  of  the  three  spoke.  Insensibly  the  words 
of  supplication  died  away  on  Julian’s  lips.  Even  his  energy  failed 
to  sustain  him,  tried  as  it  now  was  by  the  crushing  oppression  of 
suspense.  The  first  trifling  movement  which  suggested  the  idea  of 
change,  and  which  so  brought  with  it  the  first  vague  sense  of  relief, 
came  from  Mercy.  Incapable  of  sustaining  the  prolonged  effort  of 
standing,  she  drew  back  a little  and  took  a chair.  No  outward  man- 
ifestation of  emotion  escaped  her.  There  she  sat— with  the  death- 
like torpor  of  resignation  in  her  face— waiting  her  sentence  in  silence 
from  the  man  at  whom  she  had  hurled  the  whole  terrible  confession 
of  the  truth  in  one  sentence!  Julian  lifled  his  head  as  she  moved 


190 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


He  looked  at  Horace,  and  advancing  a few  steps  looked  again. 
There  was  fear  in  his  face,  as  he  suddenl}"  turned  it  toward  Mercy. 

“ Speak  to  hi m!’"  he  i^aid  in  a whisper.  “ House  him,  before  it’s 
too  late.!'" 

She  moved  mechanically  in  her  chair;  she  looked  mechanically  at 
Julian 

What  more  have  I to  say  to  him?"  she  asked,  in  faint,  weary 
tones.  " Did  I not  tell  him  everything  when  I told  him  my  name?" 

The  natural  sound  of  her  voice  might  have  failed  to  affect  Horace. 
The  altered  sound  of  it  roused  him.  He  approached  Mercy's  chair, 
with  a dull  surprise  in  his  face,  and  put  his  hand  in  a weak,  waver- 
ing way  on  her  shoulder.  In  that  position  he  stood  for  a while, 
looking  down  at  her  in  silence.  The  one  idea  in  him  that  found  its 
way  outward  to  expression  was  the  idea  of  Julian.  Without  mov- 
ing his  hand,  without  looking  up  from  Mercy,  he  spokeffor  the  first 
time  since  the  shock  had  fallen  on  him. 

" AYhere  is  Julian?"  he  asked,  very  quietly. 

" 1 am  here,  Horace— close  by  you." 

**  Will  you  do  me  a service?" 

Certainly.  How  can  1 help  you?" 

He  considered  a little  before  he  replied.  His  hand  left  Mercy's 
shoulder,  and  went  up  to  his  head— then  dropped  at  his  side.  His 
next  words  were  spoken  in  a sadly  helpless,  bewildered  way. 

" I have  an  idea,  Julian,  that  1 have  been  somehow  to  blame.  I 
said  some  hard  words  to  you.  It  was  a little  while  since.  I don’t 
clearly  remember  what  it  was  all  about.  My  temper  has  been  a good 
deal  tried  in  this  house;  I have  never  been  used  to  the  sort  of  thing 
that  goes  on  here— secrets  and  mysteries,  and  hateful  low-lived  quar- 
rels. We  have  no  secrets  and  mysteries  at  home.  And  as  for  quar- 
rels— ridiculous!  My  mother  and  my  sisters  are  highly  bred  women 
(you  know  them);  gentlewomen  in  the,  best  sense  of  the  word. 
When  I am  with  them  I have  no  anxieties.  I am  not  harassed  at 
Ifome  by  doubts  of  who  people  are,  and  confusion  about  names,  and 
80  on.  1 suspect  the  contrast  weighs  a little  on  my  mind,  and  up- 
sets it.  They  make  me  over-suspicious  among  them  here,  and  it 
ends  in  my  feeling  doubts  and  fears  that  I can’t  get  over:  doubU 
about  you  and  fears  about  myself.  I have  got  a fear  about  myself 
now.  I want  you  to  help  me.  Shall  I make  an  apology  first?" 

" Don’t  say  a word.  Tell  me  what  I can  do."  He  turned  his 
face  toward  Julian  for  the  first  time. 

" Just  look  at  me,"  he  said.  " Does  it  strike  you  that  1 am  at 
all  w^’ong  in  my  mind?  Tell  me  the  truth,  old  fellow." 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEK, 


191 


“ You  nerves  are  a little  shaken,  Horace.  Nothing  more.^^ 

He  considered  again  after  that  reply,  his  eyes  remaining  anxiously 
fixed  on  Julian’s  face. 

My  nerves  are  a little  shaken,”  he  repeated.  That  is  true;  1 
feel  they  are  shaken.  1 should  like,  if  you  don’t  mind,  to  make 
sure  that  it’s  no  worse.  Will  you  help  me  to  try  if  my  memory  is 
all  right?” 

“ 1 will  do  anything  you  like.” 

‘‘  Ah!  you  are  a good  fellow,  Julian —and  a clear-headed  fellow  too, 
which  is  very  important  just  now.  Look  here!  I say  it’s  about  a 
week  since  the  trouble  began  in  this  house.  Do  you  say  so  too?”  . 

”Yes.” 

“ The  troubles  came  in  with  the  coming  of  a woman  from  Ger- 
many, a stranger  to  us,  who  behaved  vey  violently  in  the  dining- 
room there.  Am  I right  so  far?” 

Quite  right.” 

” The  woman  carried  matter  with  a high  hand.  She  claimed  Colo- 
nel Roseberry — no,  I wish  to  be  strictly  accurate — she  claimed  the 
late  Colonel  Roseberry  as  her  father.  She  told  a tiresome  story 
about  her  having  been  robbed  of  her  papers  and  her  name  by  an 
:mpostor  who  had  personated  her.  She  said  the  name  of  this  impos- 
tor was  Mercy  Merrick.  And  she  afterward  put  the  climax 
to  it  all : she  pointed  to  the  lady  who  is  engaged  to  be  my  wife,  and 
declared  that  she  was  Mercy  Merrick.  Tell  me  again,  iz  that  right 
or  wrong?” 

Julian  answered  him  as  before.  He  went  on,  speaking  more  con- 
fidently and  more  excitedly  than  he  had  spoken  yet. 

“Now  attend  to  this,  Julian.  1 am  going  to  pass  from  my  memory 
of  what  happened  a week  ago  to  my  memory  of  what  happened 
five  minutes  since.  You  were  present;  I want  to  know  if  you 
heard  it  too.”  He  paused,  and,  without  taking  his  eyes  off 
Julian,  pointed  backward  to  Mercy.  “There  is  the  lady  who  is 
engaged  to  marry  me,”  he  resumed.  “ Did  I,  or  did  1 not,  hear 
her  say  that  she  had  come  out  of  a Refuge,  and  that  she  was  going 
back  to  a Refuge?  Did  I,  or  did  1 not,  hear  her  own  to  my  face 
that  her  name  was  Mercy  Merrick?  Answer  me,  Julian.  My  good 
friend,  answer  me,  for  the  sake  of  old  times.” 

His  voice  faltered  as  he  spoke  those  imploring  words.  Under  the 
dull  blank  of  his  face  there  appeared  the  first  rJgnc  of  emotion 
slowly  forcing  its  way  outward.  The  stunned  mind  was  reviving 
faintly.  Julian  saw  his  opportunity  of  aiding  the  recovery,  and 
seized  it.  He  took  Horace  gently  by  the  arm,  and  pointed  to  Mercy. 


193 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEiq-. 


“ There  is  your  answer!”  he  said.  Look!— and  pity  herj 

She  had  not  once  interrupted  them  while  they  had  been  speaking; 
she  had  changed  her  position  again,  and  that  wslh  all.  There  was  a 
writing-table  at  the  side  of  her  chair;  her  outstretched  arms  rested  Ou 
it.  Her  head  had  dropped  on  her  arms,  and  her  face  was  hidden. 
Julian’s  judgment  had  not  misled  him;  the  utter  self-abandonment 
of  lier  attitude  answered  Horace  as  no  human  language  could 
have  answered  him.  He  looked  at  her.  A quick  spasm  of 
pain  passed  across  his  face.  He  turned  once  more  to  the  faithful 
friend  who  had  forgiven  him.  His  head  fell  on  Julian’s  shoulder 
and  he  burst  into  tears.  Mercy  started  wildly  to  her  feet,  and 
looked  at  the  two  men. 

''  O God!”  she  cried,  “ what  have  1 done!” 

Julian  quieted  her  by  a motion  of  his  hand. 

” You  have  helped  me  to  save  him,”  he  said.  Let  his  tears  have 

their  way.  Wait.” 

He  put  one  arm  around  Horace  to  support  him.  The  manly  ten- 
derness of  the  action,  the  complete  and  noble  pardon  of  past  in- 
juries which  it  implied,  touched  Mercy  to  the  heart.  She  went 
back  to  her  chair.  Again  shame  and  sorrow  overpowered  her,  and 
again  she  hid  her  face  from  view.  Julian  led  Horace  to  a seat;  and 
silently  waited  by  him  until  he  had  recovered  his  self-control.  He 
gratefully  took  the  kind  hand  that  had  sustained  him:  he  said,  sim- 
ply, almost  boyishly,  ” Thank  you,  Julian.  I am  better  now.” 

“Are  you  composed  enough  to  listen  to  what  is  said  to  you?” 
Julian  asked. 

“Yes  Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  me?” 

Julian  left  him  without  immediately  replying,  and  returned  to 
Mercy. 

“The  time  has  come,”  he  said.  “Tell  him  all — truly,  unre- 
servedly, as  you  would  tell  it  to  me.” 

She  shuddered  as  he  spoke.  “ Have  1 not  told  him  enough?” 
she  asked.  “ Do  you  want  me  to  break  his  heart?  Look  at  him! 
Look  what  I have  done  already!” 

Horace  shrank  from  the  ordeal  as  Mercy  shrank  from  it. 

“ No,  no!  1 can’t  listen  to  it!  I daren’t  listen  to  it!”  he  cried, 
and  rose  to  leave  the  room. 

Julian  had  taken  the  good  work  in  hand:  he  never  faltered  over 
it  for  an  instant.  Horace  had  loved  her— how  dearly  Julian  now 
knew  for  the  first  time.  The  bare  possibility  that  she  might  earn 
her  pardon  if  ohe  was  allowed  to  plead  lier  own  cause  was  a possi- 
bility still  left.  To  let  her  win  on  Horace  to  forgive  her,  was  death 


THE  HEW  MAGDAtEH. 


193 


to  the  lore  that  still  filled  his  heart  in  secret.  But  he  never  hesi- 
tated. With  a resolution  which  the  weaker  man  was  powerless  to 
resist,  he  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  led  him  back  to  his  place. 

“ For  her  sake,  and  for  your  sake,  you  shall  not  condemn  her  un-* 
heard,**  he  said  to  Horace,  firmly.  “ One  temptation  to  deceive 
you  after  another  has  tried  her,  and  she  has  resisted  them  all. 
With  no  discovery  to  fear,  with  a letter  from  the  benefactress  who 
loves  her  commanding  her  to  be  silent,  with  everything  that  a woman 
values  in  this  world  to  lose,  if  she  owns  what  she  has  done— 
wonian,  for  the  truth’s  sake,  has  spoken  the  truth.  Does  she  de- 
serve nothing  at  your  hands  in  return  for  that  ? Respect  her,  Hor- 
ace—'and  hear  her.” 

Horace  yielded.  Julian  turned  to  Mercy. 

‘‘  You  have  allowed  me  to  guide  you  so  far,”  he  said.  “ Will  you 
allow  me  to  guide  you  still?” 

Her  eyes  sank  before  his;  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  rapidly.  His 
influence  over  her  maintained  its  sway.  She  bowed  her  head  ia 
speechless  submission. 

“ Tell  him,”  Julian  proceeded,  in  accents  of  entreaty,  not  of  com- 
mand— “ tell  him  what  your  life  has  been.  Tell  him  how  you  were 
tried  and  tempted,  with  no  friend  near  to  speak  the  words  which 
might  have  saved  you.  And  then,”  he  added,  raising  her  from  the 
chair, “ let  him  judge  you — if  he  can!” 

He  attempted  to  lead  her  across  the  room  to  the  place  which  Hor- 
ace occupied.  But  her  submission  had  its  limits.  Half-way  to  the 
place  she  stopped,  and  refused  to  go  further.  Julian  offered  her  a 
chair.  She  declined  to  take  it.  Standing  with  one  hand  on  the  back 
of  the  chair,  she  waited  for  the  word  from  Horace  which  would 
permit  her  to  speak  She  was  resigned  to  the  ordeal.  Her  face 
Was  calm;  her  mind  was  clear.  The  hardest  of  all  humiliations  to 
endure— the  humiliation  of  acknowledging  her  name — she  had 
passed  through.  Nothing  remained  but  to  show  her  gratitude  to 
Julian  by  acceding  to  his  wishes,  and  to  ask  pardon  of  Horace  before 
they  parted  forever.  In  a little  while  the  Matron  would  arrive  at 
the  ‘house— and  then  it  would  be  over.  Unwillingly  Horace  looked 
at  her.  Their  eyes  met.  He  broke  out  suddenly  with  something 
of  his  former  violence. 

” I can’t  realize  it  even  now!”  he  cried.  **  Is  it  true  that  you  are 
not  Grace  Roseberry?  Don’t  look  at  mel  Say  in  one  word — Yes  or 
Nol” 

She  answered  him,  humbly  and  sadly,  ” Yes.” 


194 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


“You  have  done  what  that  woman  accused  you  of  doing?  Anj  1 
to  believe  that?’' 

“ You  are  to  believe  it.  Sir," 

All  the  weakness  of  Horace's  character  disclosed  itself  when  shi 
made  that  reply. 

“Infamous!"  he  exclaimed.  “What  excuse  can  you  make  for 
the  cruel  deception  you  have  practiced  on  me?  Too  bad!  too  bad! 
There  can  be  no  excuse  for  you!" 

She  accepted  his  reproaches  with  unshaken  resignation.  “ 1 have 
deserved  it!"  was  all  she  said  to  herself,  “ I have  deserved  it!" 

Julian  interposed  once  more  in  Mercy's  defense. 

“ Wait  till  you  are  sure  there  is  no  excuse  for  her,  Horace,"  he 
said,  quietly.  “Grant  her  justice,  if  you  can  grant  no  more.  I 
leave  you  together." 

He  advanced  toward  the  door  of  the  dining-room.  Horace’s  weak- 
ness disclosed  itself  once  more. 

“Don't  leave  me  ^lone  with  her!"  he  burst  out.  “ The  misery 
of  it  is  more  than  I can  bear!" 

Julian  looked  at  Mercy.  Her  face  brightened  faintly.  That  mo- 
mentary expression  of  relief  told  him  how  truly  he  would  be  be- 
friending her  if  he  consented  to  remain  in  the  roorr.  A position  of 
retirement  was  oUered  to  him  by  a recess  formed  by  the  central 
bay-window  of  the  library.  If  he  occupied  this  place,  they  could 
see  or  not  see  that  he  was  present,  as  their  own  inclinations  might 
decide  them. 

“ I will  stay  with  you,  Horace,  as  long  as  you  wish  me  to  be 
here."  Having  answered  in  those  terms  he  stopped  as  he  passed 
Mercy  on  his  way  to  the  window.  His  quick  and  kindly  insight 
told  him  that  he  might  still  be  of  some  service  to  her.  A hint 
from  him  might  show  her  the  shortest  and  the  easiest  way  of  mak- 
ing her  confession.  Delicately  and  briefly  he  'gave  her  the  hint. 
“ The  first  time  I met  you,"  he  said  “ I saw  that  your  life  had  had 
its  troubles.  Let  us  hear  how  those  troubles  began." 

He  withdrew  to  his  place  in  the  recess.  For  the  first  time,  since 
the  fatal  evening  when  she  and  Grace  Roseberry  had  met  in  the 
French  cottage,  Mercy  Merrick  looked  back  into  the  purgatory  on 
earth  of  her  past  life,  and  told  her  sad  story  simply  and  truly  ia 
these  words. 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEIi^, 


195 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Magdalen's  apprenticeship. 

“ Mr.  Julian  Gray  has  asked  me  to  tell  him,  and  to  tell  700*, 
Mr.  Holmcroft,  how  my  troubles  began.  They  began  before  my 
recollection.  They  began  with  my  birth. 

“ My  mother  (as  1 have  heard  her  say)  ruined  her  prospects,  when 
she  was  quite  a young  girl,  by  a marriage  with  one  of  her  father's 
servants — the  groom  who  rode  out  with  her.  She  suffered,  poor 
creature,  the  usual  penalty  of  such  conduct  as  hers.  After  a short 
time  she  and  her  husband  were  separated—cn  the  condition  of  her 
sacrificing  toThe  man  whom  she  married  the  whole  of  the  little  fort- 
une that  she  possessed  in  her  own  right. 

**  Gaining  her  freedom,  my  mother  had  to  gain  her  daily  bread 
next.  Her  family  refused  to  take  her  back.  She  attached  herself 
to  a company  of  strolling  players. 

“ She  was  earning  a bare  living  in  this  way.  when  my  father  ac. 
cidentally  met  with  her.  He  was  a man  of  high  rank,  proud  of  his 
position,  and  well  known  in  the  society  of  that  time  for  his  many 
accomplishments  and  his  refined  tastes.  My  mother’s  beauty  fas- 
cinated him.  He  took  her  from  the  strolling  players,  and  sur- 
rounded her  with  every  luxury  that  a woman  could  desire  in  a 
house  of  her  own. 

**  I don't  know  how  long  they  lived  together.  I only  know  that 
my  father,  at  the  lime  of  my  first  recollections,  had  abandoned  her. 
She  had  excited  his  suspicions  of  her  fidelity — suspicions  which 
cruelly  wronged  her,  as  she  declared  to  her  dying  day.  I believed 
her,  because  she  was  my  mother.  But  I cannot  expect  others  10  do 
as  1 did — I can  only  repeat  what  she  saidi  My  father  left  her  abso- 
iutely  penniless.  He  never  saw  her  again;  and  he  refused  to  go  to 
her  when  she  sent  to  him  in  her  last  moments  on  earth. 

“ She  was  back  again  among  the  strolling  players  when  I first  re* 
member  her.  It  was  an  unhappy  time  for  me.  1 was  the  favorite 
pet  and  plaything  of  the  poor  actors.  They  taught  me  to  sing  and 
to  dance  at  an  age  when  other  children  are  just  beginning  to  learn 
to  read.  At  five  years  old  t was  in  what  is  called  ‘ the  profession,' 
and  had  made  my  poor  little  reputation  in  booths  at  country  fairs. 
As  early  as  that,  Mr.  Holmcroft,  I had  begun  to  live  under  an  as- 
sumed name — the  prettiest  name  they  could  invent  for  me  ‘ to  look 


196 


THE  IfTEW  MAGDALEK. 


well  in  the  bills/  It  was  sometimes  a hard  struggle  for  us,  in  bad 
seasons,  to  keep  body  and . soul  together.  Learning  to  sing  and 
dance  in  public  often  meant  learning  to  bear  hunger  and  cold  in 
private,  when  1 was  apprenticed  to  tbe stage.  And  yet  I have  lived 
to  look  back  on  my  days  with  the  strolling  piayers  as  the  happiest 
days  of  my  life! 

“ 1 was  ten  years  old  when  the  first  serious  misfortune  that  I can 
remember  fell  upon  me.  My  mother  died,  worn  out  in  the  prime  of 
her  life.  And  not  long  afterward  the  strolling  company,  brought 
to  the  end  of  its  resources  by  a succession  of  bad  seasons,  was  broken 

up. 

“ I was  left  on  the  world,  a nameless,  penniless  outcast,  with  one 
fatal  inheritance — God  knows  I can  speak  of  it  without  vanity,  after 
what  1 have  gone  through!— the  inheritance  of  my  mother's  beauty. 

“ My  only  friends  were  the  poor  starved  out  players.  Two  of 
them  (husband  and  wife)  obtained  engagements  in  another  com- 
pany, and  I was  included  in  the  bargain.  The  new  manager  by 
whom  1 was  employed  was  a drunkard  and  a brute.  One  night  1 
made  a trifling  mistake  in  the  course  of  the  performances — and  I 
was  savagely  beaten  for  it.  Perhaps  I had  inherited  some  of  my 
father's  spirit — without,  I hope,  also  inheriting  my  father’s  piti- 
less nature.  However  that  may  be,  I resolved  (no  matter  what  be- 
came of  me)  never  again  to  serve  the  man  who  had  beaten  me.  I 
unlocked  the  door  of  our  miserable  lodging  at  daybreak  the  next 
morning;  and,  at  ten  years  old,  with  my  little  bundle  in  my  hand,  I 
faced  the  world  alone. 

“ My  mother  had  confided  to  me,  in  her  last  moments,  my  father’s 
name  and  the  address  of  his  house  in  London.  ‘ He  may  feel  some 
compassion  for  you  ’ (she  said),  ‘ though  he  feels  none  for  me;  try 
him.’  I had  a few  shillings,  the  last  pitiful  remains  of  my  wages, 
in  my  pocket;  and  1 was  not  far  from  London.  But  I never  went 
near  my  father;  child  as  I was,  1 would  have  starved  and  died 
rather  than  go  to  him.  I had  loved  my  mother  dearly;  and  I hated 
the  man  who  had  turned  his  back  on  her  when  she  lay  on  her  death- 
bed. It  made  no  difference  to  Me  that  he  happened  to  be  my  father. 

Does  this  confession  revolt  you?  You  look  at  me,  Mr.  Holm- 
croft,  as  if  it  did. 

Think  a little.  Sir.  Does  what  I have  ju«t  said  condemn  me  as 
a heartless  creature,  even  in  m3"  earliest  years?  What  is  a father  to 
a child — when  the  child  has  never  sat  on  his  knee,  and  never  had  a 
kiss  or  a present  from  him?  If  we  had  met  in  the  street,  we  should 
Slot  have  known  each  other.  Perhaps  in  after-days,  when  1 was 


THE  MAGBALEK. 


197 


Starving  in  London,  I may  have  begged  of  my  father  without  know- 
ing it;  and  he  may  have  thrown  his  daughter  a penny  to  get  rid  of 
her,  without  knowing  it  either!  What  is  there  sacred  in  the  rela- 
tions between  father  and  child,  when  they  are  such  relations  as 
these?  Even  the  flowers  of  the  field  can  not  grow  without  light  and 
air  to  help  them!  How  is  a child’s  love  to  grow,  without  nothing 
to  help  it? 

“ My  small  savings  would  have' been  soon  exhausted,  even  If  I 
had  been  old  enough  and  strong  enough  to  protect  them  myself. 
As  things  were,  my  few  shillings  were  taken  from  me  by  gypsies,  1 
had  no  reason  to  complain.  They  gave  me  food,  and  the  shelter  of 
their  tents,  and  they  made  me  of  use  to  them  in  various  ways.  After 
a while  hard  times  came  to  the  gypsies,  as  they  had  come  to  the 
strolling  players.  Some  of  them  were  imprisoned;  the  rest  were 
dispersed.  It  was  the  season  for  hop-gathering  at  the  Hme.  I got 
employment  among  the  hop-pickers  next;  and  that  done,  I went  to 
London  with  my  new  friends. 

**  I have  no  wish  to  weary  and  pain  you  bj^  dwelling  on  this  part 
of  my  childhood  in  detail.  It  will  be  enough  if  I tell  you  that  I 
sank  lower  and  lower  until  I ended  in  selling  'matches  in  the  street. 
My  mother’s  legacy  got  me  many  a sixpence  which  my  matches 
would  never  have  charmed  out  of  the  pockets  of  strangers  if  I had 
been  an  ugly  child.  My  face,  which  was  destined  to  be  my  greatest 
misfortune  in  after  years,  was  my  best  friend  in  those  days. 

/‘Is  there  anything,  Mr.  Holmcroft,  in  the  life  I am  now  trying 
to  describe  which  reminds  you  of  a day  when  we  were  out  walking 
together  not  long  since? 

“ I surprised  and  offended  you,  I remember;  and  it  was  not  pos- 
sible for  me  to  explain  my  conduct  at  the  time.  Do  you  recollect 
the  little  wandering  girl,  with  the  miserable  faded  nosegay  in  her 
hand,  who  ran  after  us,  and  begged  for  a half-penny?  I shocked 
you  by  bursting  out  crying  when  the  child  asked  us  to  buy  her  a bit 
of  bread.  Now  you  know  why  I was  so  sorry  for  her.  Now  you 
know  why  I offended  you  the  next  day  by  breaking  an  engagement 
with  your  mother  and  sisters,  and  going  to  see  that  child  in  her 
wretched  home.  After  what  I have  confessed,  you  will  admit  that 
my  poor  little  sister  in  adversity  had  the  first  claim  on  me. 

“Let  me  go  on.  I am  sorry  if  I have  distressed  you.  Let  me 
go  on. 

“ The  forlorn  wanderers  of  the  streets  have  (as  I found  it)  one 
way  always  open  to  them  of  presenting  their  sufferings  to  the  notice 
of  their  rich  and  charitable  fellow -creatures.  They  have  only  to 


198 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEN*. 


break  the  law — and  they  make  a public  appearance  in  a court  of 
justice.  If  the  circumstances  connected  with  their  offense  are  of  an 
interesting  kind,  they  gain  a second  advantage;  they  are  advertised 
all  over  England  by  a report  in  the  newspapers. 

“Yes!  even  1 have  my  knowledge  of  the  law.  1 knew  that  it 
completely  overlooked  me  as  long  as  I respected  it.  But  on  two 
different  occasions  it  became  my  best  friend  when  I set  it  at  defi- 
ance! My  first  fortunate  offense  was  committed  when  1 was  just 
twelve  years  old. 

“ It  was  evening  time.  I was  half  dead  with  starvation;  the  raia 
was  falling;  the  night  was  coming  on.  I begged—openly,  loudly, 
as  only  a hungry  child  can  beg.  An  old  lady  in  a carriage  at  a 
shop  door  complained  of  my  impunity,  The  policeman  did  his 
duty.  The  law  gave  me  a supper  and  shelter  at  the  station-house 
that  night.  I appeared  at  the  police  court,  and,  questioned  by  the 
magistrate,  I told  my  story  truly.  It  was  the  every  day  story  of 
thousands  of  children  like  me;  but  it  had  one  element  of  interest  in 
it.  I confessed  to  having  had  a father  (he  was  then  dead)  who  had 
been  a man  of  rank ; and  I owned  (just  as  openly  as  I owned  every- 
thing else)  that  I had  never  applied  to  him  for  help,  in  resentment 
of  his  treatment  of  my  mother.  This  incident  was  new,  I suppose; 
it  led  to  the  appearance  of  my  ‘ case  ’ in  the  newspapers.  The  re- 
porters further  served  my  interests  by  describing  me  as  ‘ pretty  and 
interesting.’  Subscriptions  were  sent  to  the  court.  A benevolent 
married  couple,  in  a respectable  sphere  of  life,  visited  the  workhouse 
to  see  me.  I produced  a favorable  impression  on  them — especially 
on  the  wife.  I was  literally  friendless;  1 had  no  unwelcome  rela- 
tives to  follow  me  and  claim  me.  The  wife  was  childless;  the  hus- 
band was  a good-natured  man.  It  ended  in  their  taking  me  away 
with  them  to  try  me  in  service. 

“ I have  always  felt  the  aspiration,  no  matter  how  low  1 may  have 
fallen,  to  struggle  upward  to  a position  above  me;  to  rise,  in  spite  of 
fortune,  superior  to  my  lot  in  life.  Perhaps  some  of  my  father's 
pride  may  be  at  the  root  of  this  restless  feeling  in  me.  It  seems  to 
be  a part  of  my  nature.  It  brought  me  into  this  house — and  it  will 
go  with  me  out  of  this  house.  Is  it  my  curse,  or  my  blessing?  1 
am  not  able  to  decide. 

“ On  the  first  night  when  I slept  in  my  new  home  I said  to  myself. 
They  have  taken  me  to  be  their  servant;  I will  be  something  more 
than  that — they  shall  end  in  taking  me  for  their  child/  Before  I 
bad  been  a week  in  the  house  I was  the  wife’s  favorite  companion 
HI  me  ansence  of  her  husbanQ  at  his  place  of  businesa  Bhc  was  a 


THE  MAGDALEK. 


199 


highly  accomplished  woman,  greatly  her  husband’s  superior  in  cul- 
tivation, and,  unfortunately  for  herself,  also  his  superior  in  years. 
The  love  was  all  on  her  side.  Excepting  certain  occasions  on  which 
he  roused  her  jealousy,  they  lived  together  on  sufficiently  friendly 
terms.  She  was  one  of  the  many  wives  who  resign  themselves  to 
be  disappointed  in  their  husbands — and  he  was  one  of  the  many  hus- 
bands who  never  know  what  their  wives  really  think  of  them.  Her 
one  great  happiness  was  in  teaching  me.  I was  eager  to  learn;  I 
made  rapid  progress.  At  my  pliant  age  I soon  acquired  the  refine- 
ment of  language  and  manner  which  characterized  my  mistress.  It 
is  only  the  truth  to  say  that  the  cultivation  which  has  made  me  capa- 
ble of  personating  a lady  was  her  work. 

“ For  three  happy  years  I lived  under  that  friendly  roof.  I was 
between  fifteen  and  sixteen  years  of  age,  when  the  fatal  inheritance 
from  my  mother  cast  its  first  shadow  on  my  life.  One  miserable 
day  the  wife’s  motherly  love  for  me  changed  in  an  instant  to  the  jeal- 
ous hatred  that  never  forgives.  Can  you  guess  the  reason?  The 
husband  fell  in  love  with  me. 

1 was  innocent;  I was  blameless.  He  owned  it  himself  to  the 
clergyman  who  was  with  him  at  his  death.  By  that  time  years  had 
passed.  It  was  too  late  to  justify  me. 

“ He  was  at  an  age  (when  1 was  under  his  care)  when  men  are 
usually  supposed  to  regard  women  with  tranquillity,  if  not  with  in- 
difference. It  had  been  the  habit  of  years  with  me  to  look  on  him 
as  my  second  father.  In  my  innocent  ignorance  of  the  feeling  which 
really  inspired  him,  I permitted  him  to  indulge  in  little  paternal 
familiarities  with  me,  which  inflamed  his  guilty  passion.  His  wife 
discovered  him— not  I.  No  words  can  describe  my  astonishment  and 
my  horror  when  the  first  outbreak  of  her  indignation  forced  on  me 
the  knowledge  of  the  truth.  On  my  knees  I declared  myself  guilt- 
less. On  my  knees  I implored  her  to  do  justice  to  my  purity  and 
my  youth.  At  other  times  the  sweetest  and  the  most  considerate  of 
women,  jealousy  had  now  transformed  her  to  a perfect  fury.  She 
accused  me  of  deliberately  encouraging  him.  She  declared  she 
would  turn  me  out  of  the  house  with  her  own  hands.  Like  other 
easy-tempered  men,  her  husband  had  reserves  of  anger  in  him  which 
it  was  dangerous  to  provoke.  When  his  wife  lifted  her  hand  against 
me,  he  lost  all  self-control  on  his  side.  He  openly  told  her  that  life 
was  worth  nothing  to  him  without  me.  He  openly  avowed  his  reso- 
lution to  go  with  me  when  I left  the  house.  The  maddened  woman 
seized  him  by  the  arm— I saw  that,  and  saw  no  more.  I ran  out 
into  the  street,  panic-stricken.  A cab  was  passing.  I got  into  if: 


200 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN, 


before  he  could  open  the  house-door,  and  drove  to  the  only  place  of 
refuge  I could  think  of — a small  shop,  kept  by  the  widowed  sister 
of  one  of  our  servants.  Here  1 obtained  shelter  for  the  night.  The 
next  day  he  discovered  me.  He  made  his  vile  proposals;  he  offered 
me  the  whole  of  his  fortune;  he  declared  his  resolution,  say  what  I 
might,  to  return  the  next  day.  That  night,  by  the  help  of  the  good 
woman  who  had  taken  care  of  me — under  co\rer  of  the  darkness,  as 
if  I had  been  to  blame] — I was  secretly  removed  to  the  East  End  of 
London,  and  placed  under  the  charge  of  a trustworthy  person  who 
lived,  in  a very  humble  way,  by  letting  lodgings. 

“ Here,  in  a little  back  garret  at  the  top  of  the  house,  I was  tbrowa 
again  on  the  world — at  an  age  when  it  was  doubly  perilous  for  me 
to  be  left  to  my  own  resources  to  earn  the  bread  1 ate  and  the  roof 
that  covered  me. 

“ I claim  no  credit  to  myself — young  as  I was,  placed  as  I was'be- 
tween  the  easy  life  of  Vice  and  the  hard  life  of  Yirtue~for  acting 
as  I did.  The  man  simply  horrified  me:  my  natural  impulse  was  to 
escape  from  him.  But  let  it  be  remembered,  before  1 approach  the 
saddest  part  of  my  sad  story,  that  1 was  an  innocent  girl,  and  that  I 
was  at  least  not  to  blame. 

“ Forgive  me  for  dwelling  as  I have  done  on  my  early  years.  I 
shrink  from  speaking  of  the  events  that  are  still  to  come. 

“ In  losing  the  esteem  of  my  first  benefactress  I had,  in  my  friend- 
less position,  lost  all  hold  on  an  honest  life— except  the  one  frail  hold 
of  needlework.  The  only  reference  of  which  1 could  now  dispose 
was  the  recommendation  of  me  by  my  landlady  to  a place  of  busi- 
ness which  largely  employed  expert  needle- women.  It  is  needless 
for  me  to  tell  you  how  miserably  work  of  that  sort  is  remunerated: 
you  have  read  about  it  in  the  newspapers.  As  long  as  my  health 
lasted  1 contrived  to  live  and  to  keep  out  of  debt.  Pew  girls  could 
have  resisted  as  long  as  I did  the  slowly-poisoning  influences  of 
crowded  work-rooms,  insufficient  nourishment,  and  almost  total  pri- 
vation of  exercise.  My  life  as  a child  had  been  a life  in  the  open  air: 
it  had  helped  to  strengthen  a constitution  naturall^r  hardy,  naturally 
free  from  all  taint  of  hereditary  disease.  But  my  time  came  at  last. 
Under  the  cruel  stress  laid  on  it  my  health  gave  way.  I was  struck 
down  by  a low  fever,  and  sentence  was  pronounced  on  me  by  my 
fellow-lodgers.  * Ah,  poor  thing,  her  ti'oubles  will  soon  be  at  an 
endr 

“ The  prediction  might  have  proved  true— I might  nevei*  have 
committed  the  errors  and  endured  the  sufferings  of  after-years— if  I 
had  fallen  ill  in  another  house. 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


201 


“ But  it  was  my  good,  or  my  evil  fortune — 1 dare  not. say  which 
--'to  have  interested  in  myself  and  my  sorrows  an  actress  at  a subur- 
ban theater,  who  occupied  the  rcom  under  mine.  Except  when  her 
stage  duties  took  her  away  for  two  or  three  hours  in  the  evening,  this 
noble  creature  never  left  my  bedside.  Ill  as  she  could  afford  it,  her 
purse  paid  my  inevitable  expenses  while  I lay  helpless.  The  land- 
lady, moved  by  her  example,  accepted  half  the  weekly  rent  of  my 
room.  The  doctor,  with  the  Christian  kindness  of  his  profession, 
would  take  no  fees.  All  that  the  tenderest  care  could  accomplish  was 
lavished  on  me;  my  youth  and  my  constitution  did  the  rest.  I 
struggled  back  to  life—and  then  I took  up  my  needle  again. 

“ It  may  surprise  you  that  I should  have  failed  (having  an  actress 
for  my  dearest  friend)  to  use  the  means  of  introduction  thus  offered 
to  me  to  try  the  stage — especially  as  my  childish  training  had  given 
me,  in  some  small  degree,  a familiarity  with  the  Art. 

“ 1 had  only  one  motive  for  shrinking  from  an  appearance  at  the 
theater—but  it  was  strong  enough  to  induce  me  to  submit  to  any 
alternative  that  remained,  no  matter  how  hopeless  it  might  be.  If  I 
showed  myself  on  the^public  stage  my  discovery  by  the  man  from 
whom  1 had  escaped  would  be  only  a question  of  time.  I knew 
him  to  be  habitual  1}^  a play-goer  and  a subscriber  to  a theatrical  news- 
paper. I had  even  heard  him  speak  of  the  theater  to  which  my 
friend  was  attached,  and  compare  it  advantageously  with  places  of 
amusement  of  far  higher  pretensions.  Sooner  or  later,  if  1 joined 
the  company,  he  would  be  certain  to  go  and  see  ‘ the  new  actress.* 
The  bare  thought  of  it  reconciled  me  to  returning  io  my  needle. 
Before  I was  strong  enough  to  endure  the  atmosphere  of  the  crowded 
work-room  I obtained  permission,  as  a favor,  to  resume  my  occupa- 
tion at  home. 

“ Surely  my  choice  was  the  choice  of  a virtuous  girl?  And  yet 
the  day  when  1 returned  to  my  needle  was  the  fatal  day  of  my  life. 

“ I had  now  not  only  to  provide  for  the  wants  of  the  passing  hour 
— I had  my  debts  to  pay.  It  was  only  to  be  done  by  toiling  harder 
than  ever,  and  by  living  more  poorly  than  ever.  I soon  paid  the 
penalty,  in  my  weakened  state,  of  leading  such  a life  as  this.  One 
evening  my  head  turned  suddenly  giddy;  my  heart  throbbed  fright- 
fully. I managed  to  open  the  window,  and  to  let  the  fresh  air  into 
the  room,  and  I felt  better.  But  I was  not  sufficiently  recovered  to 
be  able  to  thread  my  needle.  I thought  to  myself,  ‘ If  I go  out  for 
half  an  hour^  a little  exercise  may  put  me  right  again.  ’ I had  not,  as 
I suppose,  been  out  more  than  ten  minutes  when  the  attack  from 
«vhich  I had  suffered  in  my  room  was  renewed.  There  was  no  shop 


SOS 


THE  ITEW  MAGDALEK. 


near  in  -which  1 could  take  refuge.  I tried  to  ring  the  bell  of  the 
nearest  house  door.  Before  I could  reach  it  I fainted  in  the  street. 

“ How  long  hunger  and  weakness  left  me  at  the  mercy  of  the  first 
Stranger  who  might  pass  by,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  say. 

“ When  I partially  recovered  my  senses  1 was  conscious  of  being 
under  shelter  somewhere,  and  of  having  a wine-glass  containing 
some  cordial  drink  held  to  my*  lips  by  a man.  I managed  to  swallow 
— I don’t  know  how  little,  or  how  much.  The  stimulant  had  a 
very  strange  effect  on  me.  Reviving  me  at  first,  it  ended  in  stupe- 
fying me.  I lost  my  senses  once  more. 

When  I next  recovered  myself  the  day  was  breaking.  I was 
in  a bed  in  a strange  room.  A nameless  terror  seized  me,  I called 
out.  Three  or  four  women  came  in,  whose  faces  betrayed^  even  to 
my  inexperienced  eyes,  the  shameless  infamjr  of  their  lives.  I 
started  up  in  the  bed.  I implored  them  to  tell  me  where  I was,  and 
what  had  happened — 

“ Spare  me!  I can  saj  BO  more.  Not  long  since  you  heard 
Miss  Roseberry  call  me  aB  outcast  from  the  streets.  Now  you 
know — as  God  is  my  judge  i am  i^peaking  the  truth ! —now  you 
know  what  made  me  an  outcast,  and  in  what  measure  I deserved 
my  disgrace.’' 

Her  voice  faltered,  her  resolution  failed  her,  for  the  first  time. 

‘‘  Give  me  a few  minutes,”  she  said,  in  low,  pleading  tones.  ” If 
I try  to  go  on  now,  I am  afraid  I shall  cry.” 

She  took  the  chair  which  Julian  had  placed  for  her,  turning  her 
face  aside  so  that  neither  of  the  men  could  see  it.  One  of  her 
hands  was  pressed  above  her  bosom,  the  other  hung  listlessly  at  her 
side.  Julian  rose  from  the  place  that  he  had  occupied.  Horace 
neither  moved  nor  spoke.  His  head  was  on  his  breast;  the  traces 
©f  tears  on  his  cjieeks  owned  mutely  that  she  had  touched  his  heart. 
Would  he  forgive  her?  Julian  passed  on,  and  approached  Mercy’s 
chair. 

In  silence  he  took  the  hand  which  hung  at  her  side.  In  silence 
he  lifted  it  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it  as  her  brother  might  have 
kissed  it.  She  started,  but  she  never  looked  up.  Some  strange 
fear  of  discovery  seemed  to  possess  her.  '‘Horace?”  she  whispered, 
timidly.  Julian  made  no  reply.  He  went  back  to  his  place,  and 
allowed  her  to  think  it  was  Horace^ 

The  sacrifice  was  immense  enough — feeling  toward  her  as  he 
ftelt— to  be  worthy  of  the  man  who  made  it.  A few  lainutes  had 
been  all  she  asked  for.  In  a lew  minutes  she  turned  toward  them 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


203 


again.  Her  sweet  voice  was  steady  once  more;  her  eyes  rested 
softly  on  Horace  as  she  went  on. 

“ What  was  it  possible  for  a friendless  girl  in  my  position  to  do, 
when  the  full  knowledge  of  the  outrage  had  been  revealed  to  me? 

If  1 had  possessed  near  and  dear  relatives  to  protect  and  advise 
me,  the  wretches  into  whose  hands  I had  fallen  might  have  felt  the 
penalty  of  tbe  law.  I know  no  more  of  the  formalities  which  set 
the  law  in  motion  than  a child.  But  I had  another  alternative  (you 
will  say).  Charitable  societies  would  have  received  me  and  helped 
me,  if  I had  stated  my  case  to  them.  I knew  no  more  of  the  chari- 
table societies' than  1 knew  of  the  law.  At  least,  then,  1 might  have 
gone  back  to  the  honest  people  among  whom  I had  lived?  When  1 
received  my  freedom,  after  the  interval  of  some  days,  I was  ashamed 
to  go  back  to  the  honest  people.  Helplessly  and  hopelessly,  without 
sin  or  choice  of  mine,  I drifted,  as  thousands  of  other  women  have 
drifted,  into  the  life  which  set  a mark  on  me  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 

“ Are  you  surprised  at  the  ignorance  which  this  confession  re- 
veals? 

“You  have  your  solicitors  to  inform  you  of  legal  remedies,  and 
your  newspapers,  circulars,  and  active  friends  to  sound  the  praises 
of  charitable  institutions  continually  in  your  ears — you,  who  possess 
these  advantages,  have  no  idea  of  the  outer  world  of  ignorance  in 
which  your  lost  fellow- creatures  live.  They  know  nothing  (unless 
they  are  rogues  accustomed  to  prey  on  society)  of  your  benevolent 
schemes  to  help  them.  The  purposes  of  public  charities,  and  the 
way  to  discover  and  applj’^  to  them,  ought  to  be  posted  at  the  corner 
of  every  street.  What  do  we  know  of  public  dinners  and  eloquent 
sermons  and  neatly  printed  circulars?  Every  now  and  then  the 
case  of  some  forlorn  creature  (generally  of  a woman),  who  has  com- 
mitted suicide,  within  five  minutes’  walk,  perhaps,  of  an  institution 
which  would  have  opened  its  doors  to  her,  appears^  ig^  tho  news- 
papers, shocks  you  dreadfully,  and  is  then  forgotten  again.  Take 
as  much  pains  to  make  charities  and  asylums  known  among  the 
people  without  money  as  are  taken  to  make  a new  play,  a new  jour- 
nal,  or  a new  medicine  known  among  the  people  with  money,  and 
you  will  save  many  a lost  creature  who  is  perishing  now. 

“You  will  forgive  and  understand  me  if  I say  no  more  of  this 
period  of  my  life.  Let  me  pass  to  the  new  incident  in  my  career 
which  brought  me  for  the  second  time  before  the  public  notice  in  a 
court  of  law. 

“ Sad  as  my  experience  has  been,  it  has  not  taught  me  to  think  ill 
of  human  nature.  1 had  found  kind  hearts  to  feel  for  me  in  my 


204 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN, 


former  troubles ; and  I had  friends— faithful,  self-denying,  generous 
friends—among  iny  sisters  in  adversity  now.  One  of  these  poor 
women  (she  has  gone,  I am  glad  to  think,  from  the  world  that  used 
her  so  hardly)  especially  attracted  my  sympathies.  She  was  the 
genGest,  the  most  unselfish  creature  I have  ever  met  with.  We  lived 
together  like  sisters.  More  than  once,  in  the  dark  hours  when  the 
thought  of  self-destruction  comes  to  a desperate  woman,  the  image 
of  my  poor  devoted  friend  left  to  sulfer  alone,  rose  in  my  mind  and 
restrained  it.  You  will  hardly  understand  it  but  even  we  had  our 
happy  days.  When  she  or  I had  a few  shillings  to  spare,  we  used 
to  offer  one  another  little  presents,  and  enjoy  our  simple  pleasure  in 
giving  and  receiving  as  keenly  as  if  we  had  been  the  most  reputable 
women  living. 

“ One  day  I took  my  friend  into  a shop  to  buy  her  a ribbon — only 
a bow  for  her  dress.  She  was  to  choose  it,  and  I was  to  pay  for  it, 
and  it  was  to  be  the  prettiest  ribbon  that  money  could  buy. 

“ The  shop  was  full;  we  had  to  wait  a little  before  we  could  be 
served. 

“ Next  to  me,  as  1 stood  at  the  counter  with  my  companion,  was 
a gaudily  dressed  woman,  looking  at  some  handkerchiefs.  Tho 
handkerchiefs  were  finely  embroidered,  but  the  smart  lady  was  hard 
to  please.  She  tumbled  them  up  disdainfully  in  a heap,  and  asked 
for  other  specimens  from  the  stock  in  the  shop.  The  man,  in  clear- 
ing the  handkerchiefs  out  of  the  way,  suddenly  missed  one.  He 
was  quite  sure  of  it,  from  a peculiarity  in  the  embroidery  which 
made  the  handkerchief  especially  noticeable.  ^Iwas  poorly  dressed, 
and  I was  close  to  the  handkerchiefs.  After  one  look  at  me  he 
shouted  to  the  superintendent,  ‘ Shut  the  door!  There  is  a thief 
in  the  shop!' 

“ Tho  door  was  closed ; the  lost  handkerchief  was  vainly  sought 
for  on  the  counter,  and  on  the  floor.  A robbery  had  been  com- 
mitted ; and  I was  accused  of  being  the  thief. 

“I  will  say  nothing  of  what  I felt— I will  only  tell  you  what 
happened. 

“ I was  searched,  and  the  handkerchief  was  discovered  on  me 
The  woman  who  had  stood  next  to  me,  on  finding  herself  threatenec^ 
with  discovery,  had  no  doubt  contrived  to  slip  the  stolen  handker- 
chief into  my  pocket.  Only  an  accomplished  thief  could  have  es. 
caped  detection  in  that  way  without  my  knowledge.  It  wa?  useless, 
in  the  face  of  the  facts,  to  declare  my  innocence.  1 had  no  char 
acter  to  appeal  to.  My  friand  tried  to  speak  for  me;  but  what  was 
she?  Only  a lost  woman  like  myself.  Mv  landlady's  evidence  in 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK, 


205 


favor  of  my  honesty  produced  no  effect ; it  was  against  her  that  she 
let  lodgings  to  people  in  ray  position.  I was  prosecuted,  and  found 
firuUty.  The  tale  of  my  disgrace  is  now  complete,  Mr.  Bolmcroft. 
l!^o  matter  whether  I was  innocent  or  not,  the  shame  of  it  remains— 
I have  been  imprisoned  for  theft. 

The  matron  of  the  prison  was  the  next  person  who  took  an  in- 
terest in  me.  She  reported  favorably  of  my  behavior  to  the  author- 
ities; and  when  1 had  served  my  time  (as  the  phrase  was  among  us) 
she  gave  me  a letter  to  the  kind  friend  and  guardian  of  my  later 
years— to  the  lady  who  is  coming  here  to  take  me  back  with  her  to 
the  Refuge. 

“ From  this  time  the  story  of  my  life  is  little  more  than  the  story 
of  a woman’s  vain  efforts  to  recover  her  lost  place  in  the  world. 

“ The  matron  on  receiving  me  into  the  Refuge,  frankly  acknowl- 
edged that  there  were  terrible  obstacles  in  my  way.  But  she  saw 
that  I was  sincere,  and  she  felt  a good  woman’s  sympathy  and 
compassion  for  me.  On  my  side,  I did  not  shrink  from  beginning 
the  slow  and  weary  journey  back  again  to  a reputable  life  from  the 
humblest  starting-point — from  domestic  service.  After  first  earning 
my  new  character  in  the  Refuge,  1 obtained  a trial  in  a respectable 
house.  1 worked  hard,  and  worked  uncomplainingly;  but  my 
mother’s  fatal  legacy  was  against  me  from  the  first.  My  personal 
appearance  excited  remark;  my  manners  and  habits  were  not  the 
manners  and  habits  of  the  women  among  whom  my  lot  was  cast.  I 
tried  one  place  after  another  — always  with  the  same  results.  Sus- 
picion and  jealousy  I could  endure;  but  1 was  defenseless  when 
curiosity  assailed  me  in  its  turn.  Sooner  or  later  inquiry  led  to  dis- 
covery. Sometimes  the  servants  threatened  to  give  warning  in  a 
body — and  I was  obliged  to  go.  Sometimes,  when  there  was  a 
young  man  in  the  family,  scandal  pointed  at  me  and  at  him — and 
again  1 was  obliged  to  go.  If  you  care  to  know  it,  Miss  Roseberry 
can  tell  you  the  story  of  those  sad  days.  I confided  to  her  on  the 
memorable  night  when  we  met  in  the  French  cottage.  I havh  o 
heart  to  repeat  it  now.  After  a while  I wearied  of  the  hop/  ess 
struggle.  Despair  laid  its  hold  on  me — I lost  all  hope  in  the  mercy 
of  God.  More  than  once  1 walked  to  one  or  other  of  the  bridges, 
and  looked  over  the  parapet  at  the  river,  and  said  to  myself,  ' Other 
women  have  done  it;  why  shouldn’t  I?* 

“You  saved  me  at  that  time,  Mr.  Gray— as  you  have  saved  me 
since.  1 was  one  of  your  congregation  when  you  preached  in  the 
chapel  of  the  Refuge.  You  reconciled  others  beside  me  to  our 
hard  pilgrimage.  In  their  name  and  in  mine,  Sir,  1 thank  you. 


206 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


T forget  how  long  it  was  after  the  bright  day  when  you  com- 
forted and  sustained  us  that  the  war  broke  out  between  France  and 
Germany.  But  I can  never  forget  the  evening  when  the  matron 
sent  for  me  into  her  own  room  and  said,  * My  dear,  your  life  here  is  a 
wasted  life.  If  you  have  courage  enough  left  to  try  it,  I can  giye 
you  another  chance.* 

“ I passed  through  a week  of  probation  in  a London  hospital.  A 
week  after  that  I wore  the  red  cross  the  Geneva  Convention — I 
was  appointed  nurse  in  a French  ambulance.  When  you  first  saw 
me,  Mr.  Holmcroft,  I still  had  my  nurse’s  dress  on,  hidden  from 
you  and  from  everybody  under  a gray  cloak. 

“You  know  what  the  next  event  was;  you  know  how  I entered 
this  house. 

“ I have  not  tried  to  make  the  worst  of  my  trials  and  troubles  in  tell- 
ing you  what  my  life  has  been.  I have  honestly  described  it  for  what 
it  was  when  I met  with  Miss  Eoseberry— a life  without  hope.  May 
you  never  know  the  temptation  that  tried  me  when  the  shell  struck 
its  victim  in  the  French  cottagel  There  she  lay — deadi  Her  name 
was  untainted.  Her  future  promised  me  the  reward  which  had 
been  denied  to  the  honest  efforts  of  a penitent  woman.  My  lost 
place  in  the  world  was  offered  back  to  me  on  the  one  Condition  that 
1 stooped  to  win  it  by  a fraud.  1 had  no  prospect  to  look  forward 
to;  I had  no  friend  near  to  advise  me  and  to  save  me;  the  fairest 
years  of  my  womanhood  had  been  wasted  in  the  vain  struggle  to 
recover  my  good  name.  Such  was  my  position  when  the  possibility 
of  personating  Miss  Eoseberry  first  forced  itself  on  my  mind.  Im- 
pulsively, recklessly— “Wickedly,  if  you  like — I seized  the  oppor- 
tunity, and  let  you  pass  me  through  the  German  lines  under  Miss 
Eoseberry’s  name.  Arrived  in  England,  having  had  time  to  re- 
flect, I made  my  first  and  last  effort  to  draw  back  before  it  was  too 
late.  1 went  to  the  Eefuge,  and  stopped  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  looking  at  it.  The  old  hopeless  life  of  irretrievable  disgrace 
confronted  me  as  I fixed  my  eyes  on  the  familiar  door;  the  horror 
of  returning  to  that  life  was  more  than  I could  force  myself  to  en- 
dure. An  empty  cab  passed  me  at  the  moment.  The  driver 
held  up  his  hand.  In  sheer  despair  I stopped  him,  and  when  he 
said  ‘ Where  to?*  in  sheer  despair  again  I answered,  ‘ Mablethorpe 
House.* 

“ Of  what  I have  suffered  in  secret  since  my  own  successful  de- 
ception established  me  under  Lady  Janet’s  care  I shall  say  nothing 
Many  things  which  must  have  surprised  you  in  my  conduct  ar 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN.  207 

made  plain  to  you  by  this  time.  You  must  have  noticed  long  since 
that  I was  not  a happy  woman.  Now  you  know  why. 

“ My  confession  is  made;  my  conscience  has  spoken  at  last.  You 
are  released  from  your  promise  to  me — you  are  free.  Thank  Mr. 
Julian  Gray  if  I stand  here  self-accused  of  the  offense  that  1 have 
committed,  before  the  man  whom  I have  wronged.’’ 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

SENTENCE  IS  PRONOUNCED  ON  HER, 

It  was  done.  The  last  tones  of  her  voice  died  away  in  silence. 
Her  eyes  still  rested  on  Horace.  After  hearing  what  he  had  heard 
could  he  resist  that  gentle  pleading  look?  Would  he  forgive  her? 
A while  since  Julian  had  seen  tears  on  hia  cheeks,  and  had  believed 
that  he  felt  for  her.  Why  was  he  now  silent?  Was  it  possible  that 
he  only  felt  for  himself?  For  thei  last  time— at  the  crisis  of  her  life 
— Julian  spoke  for  her.  He  had  never  loved  her  as  he  loved  her  at 
that  moment;  it  tried  even  his  generous  nature  to  plead  her  cause 
with  Horace  against  himself.  But  he  had  promised  her,  without 
reserve,  all  the  help  that  her  truest  friend  could  offer.  Faithfully 
and  manfully  he  redeemed  his  promise. 

“ Horace!”  he  said. 

Horace  slowly  looked  up.  Julian  rose  and  approached  him. 

“ She  has  told  you  to  thank  m<?,  if  her  conscience  has  spoken. 
Thank  the  noble  nature  which  answered  when  I called  upon  it! 
Own  tlie  priceless  value  of  a woman  who  can  speak  the  truth.  Her 
heart-felt  repentance  is  a joy  in  heaven.  Shall  it  not  plead  for  her 
on  earth?  Honor  her,  if  you  are  a Christian!  Feel  for  her,  if  you 
are  a man!” 

He  waited.  Horace  never  answered  him. 

Mercy’s  eyes  turned  tearfully  on  Julian.  His  heart  was  the  heart 
that  felt  for  Her!  His  words  were  the  words  which  comforted  and 
pardoned  her!  When  she  looked  back  again  at  Horace  it  was  with 
an  effort.  His  last  hold  on  her  was  lost.  In  her  inmost  mind  a 
thought  rose  unbidden — a thought  whch  was  not  to  be  repressed, 
“ Can  I ever  have  loved  this  man?” 

She  advanced  a step  toward  him;  it  was  not  possible,  even  yet,  to 
completely  forget  the  past.  She  held  out  her  hand.  He  rose,  on 
his  side — without  looking  at  her. 

” Before  we  part  forever,”  she  said  to  him,  “ will  you  take  my 
hand  as  a Soken  that  you  forgive 


208 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


He  hesitated.  He  half  lifted  his  hand.  The  next  moment  tht 
generous  impulse  died  away  in  him.  In  its  place  came  the  mean 
fear  of  what  might  happen  if  he  trusted  himself  to  the  dangerous 
fascination  of  her  touch.  His  hand  dropped  again  at  his  side;  he 
turned  away  quickly. 

“ 1 can't  forgive  her,"  he  said. 

With  that  horrible  confession — without  even  a last  look  at  her — he 
left  the  room.  At  the  moment  when  he  opened  the  door  Julian's 
contempt  for  him  burst  its  way  through  all  restraints. 

“ Horace,"  he  said,  I pity  you’" 

As  the  words  escaped  him  he  looked  back  at  Mercy.  She  had 
turned  aside  from  both  of  them — she  had  retired  to  a distant  part  of 
the  library.  The  first  bitter  foretaste  of  what  was  in  store  for  her 
when  she  faced  the  world  again  had  come  to  her  from  Horace! 
The  energy  which  had  sustained  her  thus  far  quailed  before  the 
dreadful  prospect — doubly  dreadful  to  a woman — of  obloquy  and 
contempt.  She  sank  on  her  knees  before  a little  couch  in  the 
darkest  corner  of  the  room.  " O Christ,  have  mercy  on  me!" 
That  was  her  prayer— no  more.  Julian  followed  her.  He  waited  a 
little.  Then  his  kind  hand  touched  her;  his  friendly^ voice  fell  con- 
solingly on  her  ear. 

" Kise,  poor  wounded  heart  I Beautiful,  purified  soul,  God's 
angels  rejoice  over  you  I Take  your  place  among  the  noblest  of 
God's  creatures!'' 

He  raised  her  as  he  spoke.  All  her  heart  went  out  to  him.  She 
caught  his  hand — she  pressed  it  to  her  bosom : she  pressed  it  to  her 
lips— then  dropped  it  suddenly,  and  stood  before  him  trembling 
like  a frightened  child. 

Forgive  me!"  was  all  she  could  say.  “ I was  so  lost  and  lonely 
— and  yru  are  so  good  to  me!" 

She  tried  to  leave  him.  It  was  useless — her  strength  was  gone; 
she  caught  at  the  he^d  of  the  couch  to  support  herself.  He  looked 
at  her.  The  confession  of  his  love  was  just  rising  to  his  lips — he 
looked  again,  and  checked  it.  Ho,  not  at  that  moment;  not  when 
she  was  helpless  and  ashamed;  not  when  her  weakness  might  make 
her  yield,  only  to  regret  it  at  a later  time.  The  great  heart  which 
had  spared  her  and  felt  for  her  from  the  first  spared  her  and  felt  for 
her  now.  He,  too,  left  her — but  not  without  a word  at  parting. 

" Don't  think  of  your  future  life,  just  yet,"  he  said,  gently. 
“ I have  something  to  propose  when  rest  and  quite  have  restored 
you."  He  opened  the  nearest  door — the  door  of  the  dining-room-^ 
and  went  out 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


209 


The  servants  engaged  in  completing  the  decoration  of  the  dinner- 
table  noticed,  when  “ Mr.  Julian  entered  the  room,  that  his  eyes 
were  “ brighter  than  ever.*'  He  looked  (they  remarked)  like  a man 
who  '‘expected  good  news.’*  They  were  inclined  to  suspect— 
though  he  was  certainly  rather  young  for  it — that  her  ladyship’s 
nephew  was  in  a fair  way  of  preferment  in  the  Church, 

Mercy  seated  herself  on  the  couch. 

There  are  limits,  in  the  physical  organization  of  man,  to  the  action 
of  pain.  When  snfterini?  has  reached  a given  point  in  intensity  the 
nervous  sensibility  becomes  incapable  of  feeling  more.  The  rule  of 
Nature,  in  this  respect,  applies  not  only  to  sufferers  in  the  body,  • 
but  to  sufferers  in  the  mind  as  well.  Grief,  rage,  terror,  have  also 
their  appointed  limits.  The  moral  sensibility,  like  the  nervous  sen- 
sibility, reaches  its  period  of  absolute  exhaustion,  and  feels  no 
more.  The  capacity  for  suffering  in  Mercy  had  attained  its  term. 
Alone  in  the  library,  she  could  feel  the  physical  relief  of  repose: 
she  could  vaguely  recall  Julian’s  parting  words  to  her,  and  sadly 
wonder  what  they  meant — and  she  could  do  no  more. 

An  interval  passed;  a brief  interval  of  perfect  rest. 

She  recovered  herself  sufficiently  to  be  able  to  look  at  her  watch 
and  to  estimate  the  lapse  of  time  that  might  yet  pass  before  Julian 
returned  to  her  as  he  had  promised.  While  her  mind  was  still 
languidly  following  this  train  of  thought  she  was  disturbed  by  the 
ringing  of  a bell  in  the  hall,  used  to  summon  the  servants  whose 
duties  were  connected  with  that  part  of  the  house.  In  leaving  the 
library  Horace  had  gone  out  by  the  door  which  led  into  the  hall, 
and  had  failed  to  close  it.  She  plainly  heard  the  bell—and  a 
moment  later  (more  plainly  still)  she  heard  Lady  Janet’s  voice  I 
She  started  to  her  feet.  Lady  Janet’s  letter  was  still  in  Hie  pocket 
of  her  apron— the  letter  which  imperatively  commanded  her  to  ab- 
stain from  making  the  very  confession  that  had  just  passed  her  lips! 
It  was  near  the  dinner  hour,  and  the  library  was  the  favorite  place 
in  which  the  mistress  of  the  house  and  her  guests  assembled  at  that 
time.  It  was  no  matter  of  doubt;  it  was  an  absolute  certainty  that 
Lady  Janet  had  onl}"  stopped  in  the  hall  on  her  way  into  the  room. 

The  alternative  for  Mercy  lay  between  instantly  leaving  the  library 
by  the  dining-room  door — or  remaining  where  she  was,  at  the  risk 
of  being  sooner  or  later  compelled  to  own  that  she  had  deliberately 
disobeyed  her  benefactress.  Exhausted  by  wffiat  she  had  already 
suffered,  she  stooti  trembling  and  irresolute,  incapable  of  deciding 
which  alternative  she  should  choose.  Lady  Janet’s  voice,  clear  and 


210 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEJ^*. 


resolute,  penetrated  into  the  room.  Bhe  was  reprimanding  the  serv* 
ant  who  had  answered  the  bell. 

Is  it  your  duty  in  my  house  to  look  after  the  lamp?’* 

* Yes,  my  lady.” 

“ And  is  it  my  duty  to  pay  you  your  wages?” 

“ If  you  please,  my  lady.” 

Why  do  I find  the  light  in  the  hall  dim,  and  the  wick  of  that 
lamp  smoking?  I have  not  failed  in  my  duty  to  You.  Don’t  let 
me  find  you  failing  again  in  your  duty  to  Me.” 

(Never  had  Lady  Janet’s  voice  sounded  so  sternly  in  Mercy’s  ear 
as  it  sounded  now.  If  she  spoke  with  that  tone  of  severity  to  a serv- 
ant who  had  neglected  a lamp,  what  had  her  adopted  daughter  to 
expect  when  she  discovered  that  her  entreaties  and  her  commands 
had  been  alike  set  at  defiance?) 

Having  administered  her  reprimand.  Lady  Janet  had  not  done 
with  the  servant  yet.  She  had  a question  to  put  to  him  next 

**  Where  is  Miss  Roseberry?” 

” In  the  library,  my  lady.” 

Mercy  returned  to  the  couch.  She  could  stand  no  longer;  she  had 
not  even  resolution  enough  left  to  lift  her  eyes  to  the  door. 

Lady  Janet  came  in  more  rapidly  than  usual.  She  advanced  to 
the  couch,  and  tapped  Meicy  playfully  on  the  cheek  with  two  of 
her  fingers. 

“ You  lazy  child!  Not  dressed  for  dinnerl  Oh,  fie,  fie!” 

Her  tone  was  as  playfully  affectionate  as  the  action  which  had 
accompanied  her  words.  In  speechless  astonishment  Mercy  looked 
up  at  her.  Always  remarkable  for  the  taste  and  splendor  of  her 
dress,  Lady  Janet  had  on  this  occasion  surpassed  herself.  There 
she  stood  revealed  in  her  grandest  velvet,  her  richest  jewelry,  her 
finest  lace — with  no  one  to  entertain  at  the  dinner  -table,  but  the  or- 
dinary members  of  the  circle  at  Mablethorpe  House.  Noticing  this 
as  strange  to  begin  with,  Mercy  further  observed,  for  the  first  time 
in  her  experience,  that  Lady  Janet’s  eyes  avoided  meeting  hers. 
The  old  lady  took  her  place  companionabiy  on  the  couch;  she  ridi- 
culed her  ” lazy  child’s  ” plain  dress,  witliout  an  ornament  of  any 
sort  on  it,  with  her  best  grace;  slie  affeclionately  put  her  arm  round 
Mercy’s  waist,  and  rearran^red  with  her  own  hand  the  disordered 
locks  of  Mercy’s  hair — but  the  instant  Mercy  herself  looked  at  her, 
Lady  ^net’s  eyes  discovered  something  supremely  interesting  in 
the  familiar  objects  that  stirrounded  her  on  the  library  walls. 

How  were  these  changes  to  be  interpreted?  To  what  possible 
ccipclusion  did  they  point?  Julian’s  profounder  knowledge  of 


FEW  MAGDALEF, 


811 


iiuiixarj  nature,  if  Julian  had  been  present,  might  have  found  a clew 
to  the  mystery.  Ee  might  have  surmised  (incredible  as  it  was)  that 
Mercy’s  timidity  before  Lady  Janet  was  fully  reciprocated  by  Lady 
Janet’s  timidity  before  Mercy.  It  was  even  so.  The  woman  whose 
Immovable  composure  had  conquered  Grace  Roseberry’s  utmost  in- 
solence in  the  hour  of  her  triumph— the  woman  who,  without  once 
flinching,  had  faced  every  other  consequence  of  her  resolution  to 
ignore  Mercy’s  true  position  in  the  house — quailed  for  the  first  time 
when  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  very  person  for  whom 
she  had  suffered  and  sacrificed  so  much.  She  had  shrunk  from  the 
meeting  with  Mercy,  as  Mercy  had  shrunk  from  the  meeting  with 
her.  The  splendor  of  her  dress  meant  simply  that,  when  other  ex- 
cuses for  delaying  the  meeting  down  stairs  had  all  been  exhausted, 
the  excuse  of  a long  and  elaborate  toilet  had  been  tried  next.  Even 
the  moments  occupied  in  reprimanding  the  servant  had  been  mo- 
ments seized  on  as  a pretext  for  another  delay.  The  hasty  entrance 
into  the  room,  the  nervous  assumption  of  playfulness  in  language 
and  manner,  the  evasive  and  wandering  eyes,  were  all  referable  to 
the  same  cause.  In  the  presence  of  others.  Lady  Janet  had  success- 
fully silenced  the  protest  of  her  own  inbred  delicacy  and  inbred 
sense  of  honor.  In  the  presence  of  Mercy,  whom  she  loved  with  a 
mother’s  love — in  the  presence  of  Mercy,  for  whom  she  had  stooped 
toldeliberate  concealment  of  the  truth — all  that  was  high  and  noble 
in  the  woman’s  nature  rose  in  her  and  rebuked  her.  What  will  the 
daughter  of  my  adoption,  the  child  of  my  first  and  last  experience 
of  maternal  love,  think  of  me,  now  that  I have  made  myself  an  ac- 
complice in  the  fraud  of  whidh  she  is  ashamed?  How  can  I look 
her  in  the  face,  when  I have  not  hesitated,  out  of  selfish  considera- 
tion for  my  own  tranquillity,  to  forbid  that  frank  avowal  of  the  truth 
which  her  finer  sense  of  duty  had  spontaneously  bound  her  to 
makel  Those  were  the  torturing  questions  in  Lady  Janet’s  mind, 
while  her  arm  was  wound  affectionately  round  Mercy’s  waist, 
while  her  fingers  were  busying  themselves  familiarly  with  the  ar- 
rangement of  Mercy’s  hair.  Thence,  and  thence  only,  sprang  the 
impulse  which  set  her  talking,  with  an  uneasy  affectation  of  frivol- 
ity, of  any  topic  within  the  range  of  conversation,  so  long  as  it  re- 
lated to  the  future,  and  completely  ignored  the  present  and  the  past. 

“ The  winter  here  is  unendurable,”  Lady  Janet  began.  ” 1 have 
been  thinking,  Grace,  about  what  we  had  better  do  next.” 

Mercy  started.  Lady  Jauet  had  called  her  ” Grace.”  Lady  Janet 
was  still  deliberately  assuming  to  be  innocent  of  the  faintest  suspi' 
mn  of  the  truth* 


THE  NEW  MAGDALENa 


m 

“ Ko/’  resumed  her  ladyship,  affecting  to  misunderstand  Mercy*ll 
movement,  “ you  are  not  to  go  up  now  and  dress.  There  is  no 
lime,  and  I am  quite  ready  to  excuse  you.  You  are  a foil  to  me, 
my  dear.  You  have  reached  the  perfection  of  shabbiness.  Ahl  I 
remember  when  I had  my  whims  and  fancies  too,  and  when  I looked 
well  in  anything  I wore,  just  as  you  do.  Ko  more  of  that.  As  1 
was  saying,  I have  been  thinking  and  planning  what  we  are  to  do. 
We  really  can’t  stay  here.  Cold  one  day,  and  hot  the  next — what  a 
climate!  As  for  society,  what  do  we  lose  if  we  go  away?  There  is 
no  such  thing  as  society  now.  Assemblies  of  well-dressed  mobs 
meet  at  each  other’s  houses,  tear  each  other’s  clothes,  tread  on  each 
other’s  toes.  If  you  are  particularly  lucky  you  sit  on  the  staircase, 
you  get  a tepid  ice,  and  you  hear  vapid  talk  in  slang  phrases  all 
round  you.  There  is  modern  society.  If  we  had  a good  opera,  it 
would  be  something  to  stay  in  London  for.  Lock  at  the  programme 
for  the  season  on  that  table— promising  as  much  as  possible  on 
paper,  and  performing  as  little  as  possible  on  the  stage.  The  same 
works,  sung  by  the  same  singers  year  after  year,  to  the  same  stupid 
people — in  short,  the  dullest  musical  evenings  in  Europe.  No!  the 
more  I think  of  it,  the  more  plainly  I perceive  that  there  is  but  one 
sensible  choice  before  us:  we  must  go  abroad.  Set  that  pretty  head 
to  work:  choose  north  or  south,  east  or  west;  it’s  all  the  same  to 
me.  Where  shall  we  go?” 

Mercy  looked  at  her  quickly  as  she  put  the  question.  Lady  Janet, 
more  quickly  yet,  looked  away  at  the  programme  of  the  opera- 
house.  Still  the  same  melancholy  false  pretenses!  still  the  same  use- 
less and  cruel  delay!  Incapable  of  enduring  the  position  now  forced 
upon  her,  Mercy  put  her  hand  into  the  pocket  of  her  apron,  and 
drew  from  it  Lady  Janet’s  letter. 

“ Will  your  ladyship  forgive  me,”  she  began,  in  faint,  faltering 
tones,  ” if  1 venture  on  a paimful  subject?  I hardly  dare  acknowl- 
edge— ” In  spite  of  her  resolution  to  speak  out  plainly,  the  mem- 
ory of  past  love  and  past  kindness  prevailed  with  her;  the  next 
words  died  away  on  her  lips.  She  could  only  hold  up  the  letter. 

Lady  Janet  declined  to  see  the  letter.  Lady  Janet  suddenly  be- 
came absorbed  in  the  arrangement  of  her  bracelets. 

“ I know  what  you  daren’t  acknowledge,  you  foolish  child!”  she 
exclaimed.  ” You  daren’t  acknowledge  that  you  are  tired  of  thia 
dull  house.  My  dear!  I am  entirely  of  your  opinion — I am  weary 
of  my  own  magnificence;  1 long  to  be  living  in  one  snug  little 
room,  with  one  servant  to  wait  on  me.  I’ll  tell  you  what  we  will 
do.  We  will  go  to  Paris  in  the  first  place.  My  excellent  Migliore, 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEH. 


3ia 

prince  of  couriers,  shall  be  the  only  person  in  attendance.  He  snal! 
take  a lodging  for  us  in  one  of  the  unfashionable  quarters  of  Pans. 
We  will  rough  it,  Grace  (to  use  the  slang  phrase),  merely  for  a 
change.  We  will  lead  what  they  call  a ‘ Bohemian  life.’  I know 
plenty  of  writers  and  painters  and  actors  in  Paris— the  liveliest 
society  in  the  world,  my  dear,  until  one  gets  tired  of  them.  Wo 
will  dine  at  the  restaurant,  and  go  to  the  play  and  drive  about  in 
shabby  little  hired  carriages.  And  when  it  begins  to  get  monoto- 
nous (which  it  is  only  too  sure  to  do!)  we  will  spread  our  wings  and 
fly  to  Italy,  and  cheat  the  winter  in  that  way.  There  is  a plan  for 
you!  Migliore  is  in  town.  I will  send  to  him  this  evening,  and 
we  will  start  to-morrow.”  Mercy  made  another  effort. 

I entreat  your  ladyship  to  pardon  me,”  she  resumed.  “ I have 
something  serious  to  say.  1 am  afraid — ” 

“ I understand!  You  are  afraid  of  crossing  the  Channel,  and  you 
don’t  like  to  acknowledge  it.  Pooh!  The  passage  barely  lasts  two 
hours ; we  will  shut  ourselves  up  in  a private  cabin.  I will  send  at 
once— the  courier  may  be  engaged.  Ring  the  bell.” 

“ Lady  Janet,  1 must  submit  to  my  hard  lot.  1 cannot  hope  to 
associate  myself  again  with  any  future  plans  of  yours—” 

‘‘What!  you  are  afraid  of  our  ‘Bohemian  life’  in  Paris?  Ob- 
serve this,  Grace!  If  there  is  one  thing  I hate  more  than  another  it 
is  ‘ an  old  head  on  young  shoulders.’  I say  no  more.  Ring  the 
bell.” 

“ This  cannot  go  on.  Lady  Janet!  No  words  can  say  how  un- 
worthy I feel  of  your  kindness,  how  ashamed  I am — ” 

” Upon  my  honor,  my  dear,  I agree  with  you.  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed,  at  your  age,  of  making  me  get  up  to  ring  the  bell.” 

Her  obstinacy  was  immovable;  she  attempted  to  rise  from  the 
couch.  But  one  choice  was  left  to  Mercy.  She  anticipated  Lady 
Janet,  and  rang  the  bell.  The  man-servant  came  ip.  He  had.  his 
little  letter- tray  in  bis  hand,  with  a card  on  it,  and  a sheet  of  paper 
beside  the  card,  which  looked  like  an  open  letter. 

“You  know  where  my  courier  lives  when  he  is  in  London?”  asked 
Lady  Janet. 

“ Yes,  my  lady.” 

“ Send  one  of  the  grooms  to  him  on  horseback;  I am  in  a hurry 
The  courier  is  to  come  here  without  fail  to- morrow  morning— ia 
time  for  the  tidal  train  to  Paris.  You  understand?” 

“ Yes,  my  lady.” 

“ What  have  you  got  there?  Anything  for  me?” 

“ For  Miss  Roseberry,  my  lady.' 


214 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEX, 


As  lie  answered,  the  man  handed  the  card  and  the  open  letter  to 
Mercj. 

The  lady  is  waiting  in  the  morning- room,  miss.  She  wished  me 
to  say  she  has  time  to  spare,  and  she  will  wait  for  you  if  you  are  not 
ready  yet.’’ 

Having  delivered  his  message  in  those  terms,  he  withdrew.  Mercy 
read  the  name  on  the  card.  The  matron  had  arrived!  She  looked 
nt  the  letter  next.  It  appeared  to  be  a printed  circular,  with  some 
lines  in  pencil  added  on  the  empty  page.  Printed  lines  and  written 
lines  swam  before  her  eye3|.  She  felt,  rather  than  saw,  Lady  Janet  $ 
attention  steadily  and  suspiciously  fixed  on  her.  XVith  the  matron’s 
arrival  the  foredoomed  end  of  the  flimsy  false  pretenses  and  the  cruel 
delays  had  come. 

A friend  of  yours,  my  dear?*' 

Yes,  Lady  Janet.” 

Ami  acquainted  with  her?'’ 

*‘I  think  not.  Lady  Janet.** 

“ You  appear  to  be  agitated.  Does  your  visitor  bring  bad  news? 
Is  there  anything  that  I can  do  for  you?** 

■“You  can  add — immeasurably  add,  madam — to  all  your  past  kind- 
mess,  if  you  will  only  bear  with  me  and  forgive  me.’* 

“ Bear  with  you  and  forgive  you?  I don’t  understand.*' 

“ I wi]  I try  to  explain.  Whatever  else  you  may  think  of  me,  Lady 
Janet,  for  God’s  sake  don’t  think  me  ungrateful!” 

Lady  Janet  held  up  her  hand  for  silence. 

“ I dislike  explanations,”  she  said,  sharply.  “ N'obody  ought  to 
know  that  better  than  yon.  Perhaps  the  lady’s  letter  will  explain 
C )r  you.  Why  have  you  not  looked  at  it  yet?” 

” I am  in  great  trouble,  madam,  as  you  noticed  just  now — ” 

Have  you  any  objections  to  my  knowing  who  your  visitor  is?" 

“ IS* o.  Lady  Janet.” 

“ Let  me  look  at  her  card,  then." 

Mercy  gave  the  matron’s  card  to  Lady  Janet,  as  she  had  given  the 
^natron’s  telegram  to  Horace. 

Lady  Janet  read  the  name  on  the  card— considered — decided  lii;A 
it  was  a name  quite  unknown  to  her — and  looked  next  at  the  address; 
" Western  District  Refuge,  Milburn  Road.” 

” A lady  connected  with  a Refuge?”  she  said,  speaking  to  herself; 
“and  calling  here  by  appointment— if  I remember  the  servant’s 
message?  A strange  time  to  choose,  if  shfe  has  come  for  a subscrip- 
tion!” 

She  paused.  Her  brow  contracted;  her  face  hardened.  A word 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


315 


from  her  would  now  have  brought  the  interview  to  its  inevitable 
end,  and  she  refused  to  speak  the  word.  To  the  last  moment  she 
persisted  in  ignoring  the  truth!  Placing  the  card  on  the  couch  a| 
her  side,  she  pointed  with  her  long  yellow- white  forefinger  to  the 
printed  letter  lying  side  by  side  with  her  own  letter  on  Mercy’s  lap. 

^ Do  you  mean  to  read  it,  or  not?’’  she  asked. 

Mercy  lifted  her  eyes,  fast  filling  wth  tears,  to  Lady  Janet’s  face. 

“ May  1 beg  that  your  ladyship  will  read  it  for  me?”  she  said— and 
placed  the  matron’s  letter  in  Lady  Janet’s  hand. 

It  was  a printed  circular  announcing  a new  development  in  the 
charitable  woi*k  of  the  Refuge.  Subscribers  were  informed  that  it 
had  been  decided  to  extend  the  shelter  and  the  training  of  the  insti- 
tution (thus  far  devoted  to  fallen  women  alone)  so  as  to  include  (ies- 
titute  and  helpless  children  found  wandering  in  the  streets.  The 
question  of  the  number  of  children  to  be  thus  rescued  and  protected 
was  left  dependent,  as  a matter  of  course,  on  the  bounty  of  the  friends 
of  the  Refuge,  the  cost  of  the  maintenance  of  each  one  child  being 
stated  at  the  lowest  possible  rate.  A list  of  influential  persons  who 
had  increased  their  subscriptions  so  as  to  cover  the  cost,  and  a brief 
8tat<  ment  of  the  progress  already  made  with  the  new  work,  com- 
pleted the  appeal,  and  brought  the  circular  to  its  end.  The  lines' 
traced  in  pencil  (in  the  matron’s  hand- writing)  followed  on  the  blank 
page. 

“ Your  letter  tells  me,  my  dear,  that  you  would  like — ^remember- 
ing your  own  childhood— -to  be  employed  when  you  return  among 
us  in  saving  other  poor  children  left  helpless  on  the  world.  Our  cir- 
cular will  inform  you  that  I am  able  to  meet  your  wishes.  My  first 
errand  this  evening  in  your  neighborhood  was  to  take  charge  of  a 
poor  child — a little  girl — who  stands  sadly  in  need  of  our  care.  I 
have  ventured  to  bring  her  with  me,  thinking  she  might  help  to 
reconcile  you  to  the  coming  change  in  your  life.  You  will  find  us 
both  waiting  to  go  back  with  you  to  the  old  home.  I write  this  in- 
stead of  saying  it,  hearing  from  the  servant  that  you  are  not  alone, 
and  being  unwilling  to  intrude  myself,  as  a stranger,  on  the  lady  of 
the  house.” 

Lady  Janet  read  the  penciled  lines,  as  she  had  read  the  printed 
sentences,  aloud.  Without  a word  of  comment  she  laid  the  letter 
where  she  had  laid  the  card;  and,  rising  from  her  seat,  stood  for  a 
moment  in  stern  silence,  looking  at  Mercy.  The  sudden  change  in 
her  which  the  latter  had  produced — quietly  as  it  had  taken  place— 
was  terrible  to  see.  On  the  frowning  brow,  in  the  flashing  eyes,  on 
the  hardened  lips,  outraged  love  and  outraged  pride  looked  down 
on  the  lost  woman,  and  said,  as  if  in  words.  You  have  roused  us  at 
)iast. 


216 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEIT. 


“ if  that  letter  means  anything/’  she  said,  “ it  means  you  are 
about  to  \eave  my  house.  There  can  be  but  one  reason  for  your  tak- 
ing such  a step  as  that.” 

“ It  is  the  only  atonement  ] can  make,  madam—** 

“ 1 see  another  letter  on  your  lap.  Is  it  my  letter 

*‘Yes.” 

“ Have  you  read  it?”  ^ 

“ I have  read  it.” 

“ Have  you  seen  Horace  Holmcroft  ?*' 

“Yes.” 

“ Have  you  told  Horace  Holmcroft?” 

“ Oh,  Lady  Janet — ” 

“ Don’t  interrupt  me.  Have  you  told  Horace  Holmcroft  whaV 
my  letter  positively  forbade  you  to  communicate,  either  to  him  or 
to  any  living  creature?  I want  no  protestations  and  excuses.  An- 
swer me  instantly,  and  answer  in  one  word — Yes,  or  No.” 

Not  even  that  haughty  language,  not  even  those  pitiless  tones, 
could  extinguish  in  Morey’s  heart  the  sacred  memories  of  past  kind- 
ness and  past  love.  She  fell  on  her  knees — her  outstretched  hands 
touched  Lady  Janet’s  dress.  Lady  Janet  sharply  drew  her  dress 
away,  and  sternly  repeated  her  last  words. 

“ Yes?  or  No?” 

“ Yes.” 

She  had  owned  it  at  Isatl  To  this  end  Lady  Janet  had  submitted 
to  Grace  Roseberry;  had  offended  Horace  Holmcroft;  had  stooped 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life  to  concealments  and  compromises  that 
degraded  her.  After  all  that  she  had  sacrificed  and  suffered,  there 
Morey  knelt  at  her  feet,  self -convicted  of  violating  her  commands, 
trampling  on  her  feelings,  deserting  her  house!  And  who  was  the 
woman  who  had  done  this?  The  same  woman  who  had  perpetrated 
the  fraud,  and  who  had  persisted  in  the  fraud  until  her  benefactress 
had  descended  to  become  her  accomplice.  Then  and  then  only,  she 
had  suddenly  discovered  that  it  was  her  sacred  duty  to  tell  the  truth. 
In  proud  silence  the  great  lady  met  the  blow  that  had  fallen  on 
her.  In  proud  silence  she  turned  her  back  on  her  adopted  daughter 
f.-id  walked  to  the  door.  Mercy  made  her  last  appeal  to  the  kind 
friend  whom  she  had  offended— to  the  second  mother  whom  she 
had  loved. 

“ Lady  Janett  Lady  Janet!  Don’t  leave  me  without  a word. 
fJi,  madam,  try  to  feel  for  me  a little!  1 am  returning  to  a life 
c>!  of  my  old  is  falling  on  me  once 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


217 


more.  We  shall  never  meet  again.  Even  though  I have  not  de 
served  it  let  my  repentance  plead  with  youl  Say  you  forgive  me!** 

Lady  Janet  turned  round  on  the  threshold  of  the  door. 

“ 1 never  forgive  ingratitude/'  she  said.  “ Go  back  to  the  Ref- 
uge." 

The  door  opened,  and  closed  on  Ler.  Mercy  was  alone  again  in  the 
room.  Unforgiven  by  Horace,  unforgiven  by  Lady  Janet!  She 
put  her  hands  to  her  burning  head,  and  tried  to  think.  Oh,  for  th 
cool  air  of  the  night!  ' Oh,  for  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  Refuge 
She  could  feel  those  sad  longings  in  her:  it  was  impossible  to  thint 
She  rang  the  bell — and  shrank  back  the  instant  she  had  done  it.  Har; 
sTie  any  right  to  take  that  liberty?  She  ought  to  have  thought  of  if 
before  she  rang.  Habit— all  habit.  How  many  hundreds  of  times 
she  had  rung  the  bell  at  Mablethorpe  House!  The  servant  came  in. 
She  amazed  the  man — she  spoke  to  him  so  timidly:  she  even  apolo 
gized  for  troubling  him ! 

“ 1 am  sorry  to  disturb  you.  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  say  to 
the  lady  that  I am  ready  ior  her?” 

“Wait  to  give  that  message,”  said  a voice  behind  them,  “ until 
you  hear  the  bell  rung  again.” 

Mercy  looked  round  in  amazement.  Julian  had  returned  to  the 
library  by  the  dining-room  door. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  LAST  TRIAL. 

The  servant  left  them  together,  Mercy  spoke  first. 

“ Mr.  Gray!"  she  exclaimed,  “ why  have  you  delayed  my  mes- 
sage? If  you  knew  all,  you  would  know  that  it  is  far  from  being  a 
kindness  to  me  to  keep  me  in  this  house." 

He  advanced  closer  to  her — surprised  by  her  words,  alarmed  bj 
her  looks. 

" Has  any  one  been  here  in  my  absence?"  he  asked. 

“ Lady  Janet  has  been  here  in  your  absence.  I can't  speak  of  it 
— my  heart  feels  crushed — I can  bear  no  more.  Let  me  go!" 

Briefly  as  she  had  replied,  she  had  said  enough.  Julian’s  knowl- 
edge of  Lady  Janet's  character  told  him  what  had  happened.  His 
face  showed  plainly  that  he  was  disappointed  as  well  as  distressed. 

“ I had  hoped  to  have  been  with  you  when  y®u  and  my  aunt  met, 
and  to  have  prevented  this,"  he  said.  “ Believe  me,  she  will  atone 
for  all  that  she  may  have  harshly  and  hastily  done  when  she  has  had 


S18 


THE  HEW  MA^DALKH. 


time  to  think.  Try  not  to  regret  it,  if  she  has  made  your  hard  sacri* 
fice  harder  still.  #^he  has  only  raised  you  the  higher— she  has  ad- 
ditionally ennobled  you  and  endeared  you  in  my  estimation.  For- 
give me  if  I own  this  in  plain  words.  I cannot  control  myself— I 
feel  too  strongly. 

At  other  times  Mercy  might  have  heard  the  coming  avowal  in  his 
tones,  might  have  discovered  it  in  his  eyes.  As  it  was,  her  delicate 
insight  was  dulled,  her  fine  perception  was  blunted.  She  held  out 
her  hand  to  him,  feeling  a vague  conviction  that  he  was  kinder  to 
her  than  ever — and  feeling  no  more. 

“ I must  thank  you  for  the  last  time,'’  she  said.  “ As  long  as 
life  is  left,  my  gratitude  will  be  a part  of  my  life.  Let  me  go.  While 
I can  still  control  myself,  let  me  gol" 

She  tried  to  leave  him,  and  ring  the  bell.  He  held  her  hand 
firmly,  and  drew  her  closer  to  him. 

“ To  the  Refuge?"  he  asked. 

“ Yes,"  she  said.  ‘‘  Home  again!” 

“ Don't  say  that!”  he  exclaimed.  ” I can't  bear  to  hear  it.  Don’t 
call  the  Refuge  y@ur  home  I" 

“ What  else  is  it?  Where  else  can  I go?” 

“ I have  come  here  to  tell  you,  I said,  if  you  remember,  I had 
something  to  propose.” 

She  felt  the  fervent  pressure  of  his  hand;  she  saw  the  mounting 
enthusiasm  flashing  in  his  eyes.  Her  weary  mind  roused  itself  a 
little.  She  began  to  tremble  under  the  electric  influence  of  his 
touch. 

Something  to  propose?”  she  repeated.  “ What  is  there  to 
propose?" 

“ Let  me  ask  you  a question,  on  my  side.  What  have  you  done 
to-day?" 

“ You  know  what  I have  done:  it  is  your  work,"  she  answered, 
humbly.  **  Why  return  to  it  now?" 

“ I return  to  it  for  the  last  time;  1 return  to  it  with  a purpose 
which  you  will  soon  understand.  You  have  abandoned  your  Er,ar- 
riage  engagement;  you  have  forfeited  Lady  Janet's  love;  you  have 
ruined  all  your  worldly  prospects;  you  are  now  returning,  self- de- 
voted, to  a life  which  you  have  yourself  described  as  a life  without 
hope.  And  all  this  you  have  done  of  your  own  free-will— at  a time 
when  you  were  absolutely  secure  of  your  position  in  the  house— for 
the  sake  of  speaking  the  truth.  How  tell  me,  is  a woman  who 
can  make  that  sacrifice  a woman  who  will  prove  unworthy  of  the 
trust,  if  a man  places  in  her  keeping  his  honor  and  his  name?" 


219 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK* 

She  understood  him  at  last.  She  broke  away  from  him  with  a 
cry.  She  stood  with  her  hands  clasped,  trembling  and  looking  at 
him.  He  gave  her  no  time  to  think.  The  words  poured  from  his 
lips  without  conscious  will  or  conscious  effort  of  his  own. 

Mercy,  from  the  first  moment  when  I saw  you  I loved  you! 
You  are  free;  I may  own  it;  I may  ask  you  to  be  my  wife  I*' 

She  drew  back  from  him  further  and  further,  with  a wild  implor 
ing  gesture  of  her  hand. 

“ No!  no!”  she  cried.  “ Think  of  what  you  are  saying!  think  of 
what  you  would  sacrifice!  It  cannot,  must  not  be.” 

His  face  darkened  with  a sudden  dread.  His  head  fell  on  his 
breast.  His  voice  sank  so  low  that  she  could  barely  hear  it. 

‘‘  I had  forgotten  something,”  he  said.  ‘‘You  have  reminded 
me^of  it.” 

She  ventured  back  a little  nearer  to  him.  ” Have  1 offended 
you?” 

He  smiled  sadly.  ” You  have  enlightened  me.  I had  forgotten 
that  it  doesn’t  follow,  because  I love  you,  that  you  should  love  me 
in  return.  Say  that  it  is  so,  Mercy,  and  I leave  you.” 

A faint  tinge  of  color  rose  on  her  face — then  left  it  again  paler 
than  ever.  Her  eyes  looked  downward  timidly  under  the  eager  gaze 
that  he  fastened  on  her. 

“ How  can  I say  so?”  she  answered,  simply.  ” Where  is  the 
woman  in  my  place  whose  heart  could  resist  you?” 

He  eagerly  advanced ; he  held  out  his  arms  to  her  in  breathles8> 
speechless  joy.  She  drew  back  from  him  once  more  with  a look 
that  horrified  him — a look  of  blank  despair. 

” Am  i fit  to  be  your  wife?”  she  asked.  “ Must  1 remind  you  of 
what  you  owe  to  your  high  position,  your  spotless  integrity,  your 
famous  name?  Think  of  all  that  you  have  done  for  me,  and  then 
think  of  the  black  ingratitude  of  it  if  I ruin  you  for  life  by  consent- 
ing to  our  marriage — if  I selfishly,  cruelly,  wickedly,  drag  you  down 
to  the  level  of  a woman  like  me!” 

“I  raise  you  to  my  level  when  I make  you  my  wife,”  he  an- 
swered. “For  Heaven’s  sake  do  me  justice!  Don’t  refer  to  the 
world  and  its  opinions.  It  rests  with  you,  and  you  alone,  to  make 
the  misery  or  the  happiness  of  my  life.  The  world!  Good  God! 
what  can  the  world  give  mein  exchange  for  You?” 

She  clasped  her  hands  imploringly;  the  tears  flowed  fast  over  her 
cheek. 

Oh,  have  pity  on  my  weakness!”  she  cried.  ” Kindest,  best  of 
men,  help  me  to  do  my  hard  duty  toward  you!  It  is  so  hard,  after 


220 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


all  that  1 have  suffered — when  my  heart  is  yearning  for  peace  and 
happiness  and  love!’"  She  checked  herself,  shuddering  at  the  words 
that  had  escaped  her.  “ Remember  how  Mr.  Holmcroft  has  used 
me!  Remember  how  Lady  Janet  has  left  me!  Remember  what  I 
have  told  you  of  my  life!  The  scorn  of  every  creature  you  know 
would  strike  at  you  through  me.  No!  no!  no!  Not  a word  more. 
Spare  me!  pity  me!  leave  me!” 

Her  voice  failed  her;  sobs  choked  her  utterance.  He  sprang  to  her 
and  took  her  in  his  arms.  She  was  incapable  of  resisting  him ; but 
there  was  no  yielding  in  her.  Her  head  lay  on  his  bosom,  passive 
—horribly  passive,  like  the  head  of  a corpse. 

“ Mercy!  My  darling!  We  will  go  away — we  will  leave  Eng- 
land— we  will  take  refuge  among  new  people,  in  a new  world — I 
will  change  my  name — 1 will  break  with  relatives,  friends,  every- 
body. Anything,  anything,  rather  than  lose  you!” 

She  lifted  her  head  slowly  and  looked  at  him. 

He  suddenly  released  her;  he  reeled  back  like  a man  staggered  by 
a blow,  and  dropped  into  a chair.  Before  she  had  uttered  a word 
he  saw  the  terrible  resolution  in  her  face— Death,  rather  than  yield  to 
her  own  weakness  and  disgrace  him.  She  stood  with  her  hands 
lightly  clasped  in  front  of  her.  Her  grand  head  was  raised;  her  soft 
gray  eyes  shone  again  undimmed  by  tears.  The  storm  of  emotion 
had  swept  over  her  and  had  passed  away.  A sad  tranquillity  was 
in  her  face;  a gentle  resignation  was  in  her  voice.  The  calm  of  a 
martyr  was  the  calm  that  confronted  him  as  she  spoke  her  last 
words. 

‘‘  A woman  who  has  lived  my  life,  a woman  who  has  suffered 
what  I have  suffered,  may  love  you — as  I love  you — but  she  must 
not  be  your  wife.  That  place  is  too  high  above  her.  Any  other 
place  is  too  far  below  her  and  below  you.”  She  paused,  and  ad- 
vancing to  the  bell,  gave  the  signal  for  her  departure.  That  done, 
she  slowly  retraced  her  steps  until  she  stood  at  Julian’s  side. 

Tenderly  she  lifted  his  head  and  laid  it  for  a moment  on  her 
bosom.  Silently  she  stooped  and  touched  his  forehead  with  her 
bps.  All  the  gratitude  that  filled  her  heart  and  all  the  sacrifice  that 
rent  it  were  in  these  two  actions — so  modestly,  so  tenderly  per- 
formed! As  the  last  lingering  pressure  of  her  fingers  left  him, 
Julian  burst  into  tears. 

The  servant  answered  the  bell.  At  the  moment  when  he  opened 
the  door  a woman’s  voice  was  audible  in  the  hall  speaking  to  him.  , 
Let  the  child  go  in,”  the  voice  said.  I will  wait  here.  The  '] 
child  appeared,  the  same  forlorn  little  creature  who  had  reminded 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEi^". 


221 


Mercy  of  her  own  early  years  on  the  day  when  she  and  Horace 
\ Holmcroft  had  been  out  for  their  walk.  There  was  no  beauty  in 
this  child;  no  halo  of  romance  brip^htened  the  commonplace  horror 
of  her  story.  She  came  cringing  into  the  room,  staring  stupidly  at 
the  magnificence  all  round  her— the  daughter  of  the  London  streetsl 
the  pet  creation  of  the  laws  of  political  economy!  the  savage  and 
terrible  product  of  a worn-out  system  of  government  and  of  a 
civilization  rotten  to  its  core!  Cleaned  for  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
fed  sufficiently  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  dressed  in  clothes  in- 
stead of  rags  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Mercy’s  sister  in  adversity 
crept  fearfully  over  the  beautiful  carpet,  and  stopped  wonder-struck 
before  the  marbles  of  an  inlaid  table— a blot  of  mud  on  the  splendor 
of  the  room. 

Mercy  turned  from  Julian  to  meet  the  child.  The  woman’s  heart 
hungering  in  its  horrible  isolation  for  something  that  it  might 
harmlessly  love,  welcomed  the  rescued  waif  of  the  streets  as  a conso- 
lation sent  from  God.  She  caught  the  stupefied  little  creature  up 
in  her  arms.  “ Kiss  me!'’  she  whispered,  in  the  reckless  agony  of  the 
moment.  “ Call  me  sister!”  The  child  stared  vacantly.  Sister  meant 
nothing  to  her  mind  but  an  older  girl  who  was  strong  enough  to 
beat  her.  She  put  the  child  down  again,  and  turned  for  a last  look 
at  Vne  man  whose  happiness  she  had  wrecked — in  pity  to  Mm.  He 
had  never  moved.  His  head  was  down;  his  face  was  hidden.  She 
went  back  to  him  a few  steps. 

“ The  others  have  gone  from  me  without  one  kind  word.  Can  you 
forgive  me?” 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her  without  looking  up.  Sorely  as  she 
had  wounded  him  his  generous  nature  understood  her.  True  to  her 
from  the  first,  he  was  true  to  her  still. 

God  bless  and  comfort  you,”  he  said,  in  broken  tones.  ” The 
earth  holds  no  nobler  woman  than  you.” 

She  knelt  and  kissed  the  kind  hand  that  pressed  hers  for  the  last 
time.  ‘‘  It  doesn’t  end  with  this  world,”  she  whispered:  ” there  is 
a better  world  to  come!”  Then  she  rose  and  went  back  to  the 
child.  Hand  in  hand  the  two  citizens  of  the  Government  of  God- 
outcasts  of  the  Government  of  Man— passed  slowly  down  the  length 
of  the  room.  Then  out  into  the  hall.  Then  out  into  the  night. 
The  heavy  clang  of  the  closing  door  toiled  the  knell  of  their  depart- 
ure. They  were  gone. 

But  the  orderly  routine  of  the  house  —inexorable  as  death— pur- 
sued its  appointed  course.  As  the  clock  struck  the  hour  the  dinner 


232 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


bell  rang.  An  interval  of  a minute  passed,  and  marked  the  limit  cl 
delay.  The  butler  appeared  at  the  dining-room  door. 

‘‘  Dinner  is  served,  Sir.’' 

Julian  looked  up.  The  empty  room  met  his  eyes.  Something 
white  lay  on  the  carpet  close  by  him.  It  was  her  handkerchief- 
wet  with  her  tears.  He  took  it  up  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  Was 
that  to  be  the  last  of  her?  Had  she  left  him  forever? 

The  native  energy  of  the  man,  arming  itself  with  all  the  might  of 
his  love,  kindled  within  him  again.  No!  While  life  was  in  him, 
while  time  was  before  him,  tliere  was  the  hope  of  winning  her  3?8t! 
He  turned  to  the  servant,  reckless  of  what  his  face  might  betray. 

“ Where  is  Lady  Janet?” 

“ In  the  dining-room,  Sir.” 

He  reflected  for  a moment.  His  own  influence  had  failed. 
Through  what  other  influence  could  he  now  hope  to  reach  her?  Aa 
the  question  crossed  his  mind  the  light  broke  on  him.  He  saw  the 
way  back  to  her— through  the  influence  of  Lady  Janet.  “ Her  lady- 
ship is  waiting,  Sir.” 

Julian  entered  the  dining-room, 

EPILOGUE. 

CONTAINING  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  COERESPONDENCE  OP  MISS 
GRACE  ROSEBBRRY  AND  MR.  HORACE  HOLMCROFT;  TO  WHICH 
ARE  ADDED  EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DIARY  OP  THE  REVEREND 
JULIAN  GRAY. 

I. 

JBro',a  Mr.  Horace  Holmcroft  to  Miss  Grace  Eoseberry. 

“ I hasten  to  thank  you.  dear  Miss  Eoseberry,  for  your  last  kind 
letter,  received  by  yesterday’s  mail  from  Canada.  Believe  me,  I 
appreciate  your  generous  readiness  to  pardon  and  forget  what  I so 
rudely  said  to  you  at  a time  when  the  arts  of  an  adventuress  had 
blinded  me  to  the  truth.  In  the  grace  which  has  forgiven  me  1 
recognize  the  inbred  sense  of  justice  of  a true  lady.  Birth  and 
breeding  can  never  fail  to  assert  themselves:  I believe  in  them, 
thank  God,  more  firmly  than  ever. 

You  ask  me  to  keep  you  informed  of  the  progress  of  Julian 
Gray’s  infatuation,  and  of  the  course  of  conduct  pursued  toward 
him  by  Mercj’  Merrick. 

” If  you  had  not  favored  me  by  explaining  your  object,  I might 
have  felt  some  surprise  at  receiving  from  a lady  in  your  position 
such  a request  as  this.  But  the  motives  by  which  you  describe 
yourself  as  being  actuated  are  beyond  dispute.  The  existenoe  of 
society,  as  you  truly  say,  is  threatened  by  the  present  lamentable 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


223 


prevalence  of  ]il)Gral  ideas  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
l^d.  We  can  only  hope  to  protect  ourselves  against  impostors  in- 
terested in  gaining  a position  among  persons  of  our  rank  by  hecom^ 
ing  in  some  sort  (unpleasant  as  it  may  be)  familiar  with  the  arts  by 
which  imposture  too  frequently  succeeds.  If  we  wish  to  know  tc 
what  daring  lengths  cunning  can  go,  to  what  pitiable  self-delusions 
credulity  can  consent,  we  must  watch  the  proceedings — evep  while 
we  shrink  from  them —of  a Mercy  Merrick  and  a Julian  Gray. 

In  taking  up  my  narrative  again,  where  my  last  letter  left  off,  1 
must  venture  to  set  you  right  on  one  point. 

“ Certain  expressions  which  have  escaped  your  pen  suggest  to  me 
that  you  blame  Julian  Gray  as  the  cause  of  Lady  Janet’s  regretable 
visit  to  the  Refuge  the  day  after  Mercy  Merrick  had  left  her  house. 
This  is  not  quite  correct.  Julian,  as  you  will  presently  see,  has 
enough  to  answer  for  without  being  held  responsible  for  errors  of 
judgment  in  which  he  has  had  no  share.  Lady  Janet  (as  she  her- 
self told  me)  went  to  the  Refuge  of  her  own  free-will  to  ask  Mercy 
Merrick’s  pardon  for  the  language  which  she  had  used  on  the  pre- 
vious day.  ‘ X passed  a night  of  such  misery  as  no  words  can  de- 
scribe ’—this,  I assure  you,  is  what  her  ladyship  really  said  to  me— 
* thinking  over  what  my  vile  pride  and  selfishness  and  obstinacy  had 
made  me  say  and  do.  I would  have  gone  dowu  on  my  knees  to  beg 
her  pardon  if  she  would  have  let  me.  My  first  happy  moment  was 
when  I wo)i  her  consent  to'come  and  visit  me  sometimes  at  Mable- 
thorpe  House.  ’ 

“ You  will,  1 am  sure,  agree  with  me  that  such  extravagance  aa 
this  is  to  be  pitied  rather  than  blamed.  How  sad  to  see  the  decay 
of  the  faculties  with  advancing  age!  It  is  a matter  of  grave  anxiety 
to  consider  how  much  longer  poor  Lady  Janet  can  be  trusted  to 
manage  her  own  affairs.  1 shall  take  an  opportunity  of  touching  on 
the  matter  delicately  when  I next  see  her  lawyer. 

'"^1  am  straying  from  my  subject.  And — is  it  not  strange! — I am 
writing  to  you  as  confidentially  as  if  we  were  old  friends. 

“ To  return  to  Julian  Gray.  Innocent  of  instigating  his  aunt’* 
first  visit  to  the  Refuge,  be  is  guilty  of  having  induced  her  to  go 
there  for  the  second  time  the  day  after  I had  dispatched  my  last  let- 
ter to  you.  Lady  Janet’s  obiect  on  this  occasion  was  neither  more 
nor  less  than  to  plead  her  nephew’s  cause  as  humble  suitor  for  the 
hand  of  Mercy  Merrick.  Imagine  the  descendant  of  one  of  the  old- 
est families  in  England  inviting  an  adventuress  in  a Refuge  honor 
a clergyman  of  the  Church  of  "England  by  becoming  his  wife*  In 
what  times  do  we  live!  > My  dear  mother  shed  tears  of  shame  when 
she  heard  of  it.  How  you  would  love  and  admire  my  mother! 

“ I dined  at  Mablelhorpe  House  by  previous  appointment  on  the 
day  when  Lady  Janet  returned  from  her  degrading  errand. 

“ ‘ Well?’  I said,  waiting,  of  course,  till  the  servant  was  out  of 
the  room. 

“ ‘ Well,’  Lady  Janet  answered,  ‘ Julian  was  quite  right.* 

“ * Quite  right  in  what?’ 

**  ‘ In  saying  tliat  the  earth  holds  no  nobler  woman  than  Mercy 
Merrick.’ 

•* ' Has  she  refused  him  again?’ 


824 


THE  Js'EW  HAGDALEK-. 


“ * She  has  refused  him  again.’ 

‘‘  Thank  GodI”  I felt  it  fervently,  and  I said  it  fervently.  Lady 
Janet  laid  down  her  knife  and  fork,  and  fixed  one  of  her  fierce  looks 
on  me. 

“ ‘It  may  not  he  your  fault,  Horace,’  she  said,  ‘ if  your  nature 
is  incapable  of  comprehending  what  is  great  and  generous  in  other 
natures  higher  than  yours.  But  the  least  you  can  "do  is  to  distrust 
your  own  capacity  of  appreciation.  For  the  future  keep  your  opin- 
ions (on  questions  which  you  don’t  understand)  modestly  to  your- 
self. I have  a tenderness  for  you  for  your  father’s  sake;  and  I take 
the  most  favorable  view  of  your  conduct  toward  Mercy  Merrick.  I 
humanely  consider  it  the  conduct  of  a fool.’  (Her  own  words. 
Miss  Roseberry,  1 assure  you  once  more,  her  own  words.)  ‘ But 
don’t  trespass  too  far  on  my  indulgence — don’t  insinuate  again  that 
a woman  who  is  good  enough  (if  she  died  this  night)  to  go  to  heaven, 
is  not  good  enough  to  be  my  nephew’s  wife.’ 

1 expressed  to  you  my  conviction  a little  way  back  that  it  was 
doubtful  whether  poor  Lady  Janet  would  be  much  longer  competent 
to  manage  her  own  affairs.  Perhaps  you  thought  me  hasty  then? 
What  do  you  think  now? 

“ It  was,  of  course,  useless  to  reply  seriously  to  the  extraordinary 
reprimand  that  I had  received.  Besides,  I was  really  shocked  by  a 
decay  of  principle  which  proceeded  but  too  plainly  from  decay  of 
the  mental  powers.  I made  a soothing  and  respectful  reply,  and  I 
was  favored  in  return  with  some  account  of  what  had  really  hap- 
pened at  the  refuge.  My  mother  and  my  sisters  were  disgusted 
when  I repeated  the  particulars  to  them.  You  will  be  disgusted 
too. 

“ The  interesting  penitent  (expecting  Lady  Janet’s  visit),  was,  of 
course,  discovered  in  a touching  domestic  position  I She  had  a 
foundling  baby  asleep  on  her  lap;  and  she  was  teaching  the  alphabet 
to  an  ugly  little  vagabond  girl  whose  acquaintance  she  had  first 
made  in  the  street,  just  the  sort  of  artful  tableaux  mmnt  to  impose 
on  an  old  lady — was  it  not? 

“ You  will  understand  what  followed,  when  Lady  Janet  opened 
her  matrimonial  negotiation.  Having  perfected  herself  in  her  part, 
Mercy  Merrick,  to  do  her  justice,  was  not  the  woman  to  play  it  badly. 
The  most  magnanimous  sentiments  flowed  from  her  lips.  She  de- 
clared that  her  future  life  was  devoted  to  acts  of  charity,  typified, 
of  course,  by  the  foundling  infant  and  the  ugly  little  girl.  How- 
ever she  might  personally  suffer,  whatever  might  be  the  sacrifice  of 
her  own  feelings — observe  how  artfully  this  was  put,  to  insinuate 
that  she  was  herself  in  love  with  him!— she  could  not  accept  from 
Mr.  Julian  Gray  an  honor  of  which  she  was  unworthy.  Her  grati- 
tude to  him  and  her  interest  in  him  alike  forbade  her  to  compromise 
his  brilliant  future  by  consenting  to  a marriage  which  would  de- 
grade him:  would  degrade  him  in  the  estimation  of  all  his  friends. 
She  thanked  him  (with  tears);  she  thanked  Lady  Janet  (with  more 
tears);  but  she  dare  not,  in  the  interest  of  his  honor  and  hap- 
piness, accept  the  hand  that  he  offered  to  her.  God  bless  and  com- 
fort him;  and  God  help  her  to  bear  with  her  hard  lot! 

“ The  object  of  this  contemptible  comedy  is  plain  enough  to  my 
mind.  She  is  simply  holding  off  (Julian,  as  you  know,  is  a poor 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 


225 


Ulan)  until  the  influence  of  Lady  Janet’s  persuasion  is  backed  by  the 
opening  of  Lady  Janet’s  purse.  In  one  word — Settlements!  But 
for  the  profanity  of  the  woman’s  language,  and  the  really  lament- 
able credulity  of  the  poor  old  lady,  the  whole  thing  would  make  a 
fit  subject  for  a burlesque. 

“ But  the  saddest  part  of  the  story  is  still  to  come. 

“ In  due  course  of  time  the  lady’s  decision  was  communicated  to 
Julian  Gray.  He  took  leave  of  his  senses  on  the  spot.  Can  you 
believe  it? — he  has  resigned  his  curacy!  At  a time  when  the  church 
is  thronged  every  Sunday  to  hear  him  preach,  this  madman  shuts 
the  door  and  walks  out  of  his  pulpit.  Even  Lady  Janet  was  not 
far  enough  gone  in  folly  to  abet  him  in  this.  She  remonstrated  like 
the  rest  of  his  friends.  Perfectly  useless!  He  had  but  one  answer 
to  everything  they  could  say:  ‘ My  career  is  closed.’  What  stuff! 

“ You  will  ask,  naturally  enough,  what  this  perverse  man  is  going 
to  do  next.  I don’t  scruple  to  say  that  he  is  bent  on  committing 
suicide.  Pray  do  not  be  alarmed ! There  is  no  fear  of  the  pistol,  the 
rope,  or  the  river.  Julian  is  simply  courting  death — within  the 
limits  of  the  law. 

“ This  is  strong  language,  I know.  You  shall  hear  what  the  facts 
are,  and  judge  for  yourself. 

**  Having  resigned  his  curacy,  his  next  proceeding  was  to  offer 
his  service,  as  volunteer,  to  a new  missionary  enterprise  on  the  West 
Coast  of  Africa.  The  persons  at  the  head  of  the  Mission  proved, 
most  fortunately,  to  have  a proper  sense  of  their  duty.  Expressing 
their  conviction  of  the  value  of  Julian’s  assistance  in  the  most  hand- 
some terms,  they  made  it  nevertheless  a condition  of  entertaining  his 
proposal  that  he  should  submit  to  examination  by  a competent 
medical  man.  After  some  hesitation  he  consented  to  this.  The 
doctor’s  report  was  conclusive.  In  Julian’s  present  state  of  health 
the  climate  of  West  Africa  would  in  all  probability  kill  him  in  thre« 
months’  time. 

‘‘  Foiled  in  his  first  attempt,  he  addressed  himself  next  to  a Lon- 
don Mission.  Here  it  was  impossible  to  raise  the  question  of  climate ; 
and  here,  I grieve  to  say,  he  has  succeeded. 

“ He  is  now  working — in  other  words,  he  is  now  deliberately  risk- 
ing his  life — in  the  Mission  at  Green  Anchor  Fields.  The  district 
known  by  this  name  is  situated  in  a remote  part  of  London,  near  the 
Thames.  It  is  notoriously  infested  by  the  most  desperate  and  de* 
graded  set  of  wretches  in  the  whole  metropolitan  population,  and  it 
is  so  thickly  inhabited  that  it  is  hardly  ever  completely  free  from 
epidemic  disease.  In  this  horrible  place,  and  among  these  danger- 
ous people,  Julian  is  now  employing  himself  from  morning  to  night. 
None  of  his  old  friends  ever  see  him.  Since  he  joined  the  Mission 
he  has  not  even  called  on  Lady  Janet  Boy. 

“ My  pledge  is  redeemed— the  facts  are" before  you.  Ami  wrong 
in  taking  my  gloomy  view  of  the  prospect?  I cannot  forget  that 
this  unhappy  man  was  once  my  friend;  and  I really  see  no  hope  for 
him  in  the  future.  Deliberately  selLexposed  to  the  violence  of  ruffians 
and  the  outbreak  of  disease,  who  is  to  extricate  him  from  his  shock- 
ing position?  The  one  person  who  can  do  it  is  the  person  whose 
association  with  him  would  be  his  ruin — Mercy  Merrick.  Heaven 


226 


THE  HEW  MAaDALEH. 


•nly  knows  what  disasters  it  may  be  my  painful  duty  to  communh 
cate  to  you  in  my  next  letter! 

“ You  are  so  kind  as  to  ask  me  to  tell  you  something  about  myself 
and  my  plans. 

“ I have  very  little  to  say  on  either  hand.  After  what  I have 
suffered— my  feelings  trampled  on,  my  confidence  betrayed — lam  as 
yet  hardly  capable  of  deciding  what  I shall  do.  Returning  to  my 
old  profession— to  the  army — is  out  of  the  questibn,  in  these  level- 
ing days,  when  any  obscure  person  who  can  pass  an  examination 
may  call  himself  my  brother  officer,  and  may  one  day  perhaps  com- 
mand me  as  my  superior  in  rank.  If  I think  of  any  career  it  is  the 
career  of  diplomac}^  Birth  and  breeding  has  not  quite  disappeared 
as  essential  qualifications  in  that  branch  of  the  public  service.  But 
I have  decided  nothing  as  yet. 

“ My  mother  and  sisters,  in  the  event  of  your  returning  to  England, 
desire  me  to  say  that  it  will  afford  them  the  greatest  pleasure  to 
make  your  acquaintance.  Sympathizing  with  me,  they  do  not  for- 
get what  you  too  have  suffered.  A warm  welcme  awaits  you  when 
you  pay  your  visit  at  our  house. 

“ Most  truly  yours,  Horace  Holmcroft." 


II. 

From  Miss  Grace  Roseberry  to  Mr.  Horace  Holmcroft. 

“ Dear  Mr.  Holmcroft, — I snatch  a few  moments  from  my 
other  avocations  to  thank  you  for  your  most  interesting  and  delight- 
ful letter.  How  well  you  describe,  how  accurately  you  judge!  If 
Literature  stood  a little  higher  as  a profession,  1 should  almost  advise 
you— but  no  I If  you  entered  Literature,  how  could  you  associate 
with  the  people  whom  you  would  be  likely  to  meet  ? 

Between  ourselves,  I always  thought  Mr.  Julian  Gray  an  over- 
rated man.  I will  not  say  he  has  justified  my  opinion.  I will  only 
say  I pity  him.  But,  dear  Mr.  Holmcroft,  how  can  you,  with  your 
sound  judgment,  place  the  sad  alternatives  now  before  him  on  the 
same  level?  To  die  in  Green  Anchor  Fields,  or  to  fall  into  the 
clutches  of  that  vile  wretch— is  there  any  comparison  between  the 
two?  Better  a thousand  times  die  at  the  post  of  duty  than  marry 
Mercy  Merrick. 

As  I have  written  the  creature's  name,  I may  add— so  as  to  have 
all  the  sooner  done  with  the  subject— that  I shall  look  with  anxiety 
for  your  next  letter.  Do  not  suppose  that  I feel  the  smallest  curi- 
osity about  this  degraded  and  designing  woman.  My  interest  in  her 
is  purely  religous.  To  persons  of  my  devout  turn  of  mind  she  is  an 
awful  warning.  When  1 feel  Satan  near  me — it  will  be  such  a means 
of  grace  to  think  of  Mercy  Merrick! 

“Poor  Lady  Janet!  I noticed  those  signs  of  mental  decay  to 
which  you  so  feelingly  allude  at  the  last  interview  1 had  with  her  in 
the  Mablethorp  House.  If  you  can  find  an  opportunity,  will  you  say 
that  I wish  her  well,  here  and  hereafter?  and  will  you  please  add 
that  I do  not  omit  to  remember  her  in  my  prayers? 

“ There  is  just  a chance  of  my  visiting  England  toward  the  close 
of  the  autumn.  My  fortunes  have  changed  since  I wrote  last.  1 
have  been  received  as  reader  and  companion  by  a lady  who  is  th® 


THE  ^s^EW  MAGDALEH. 


227 


wife  of  one  of  our  high  judicial  functionaries  in  this  part  of  the 
world.  1 do  not  take  much  interest  in  him;  he  is  what  they  call  a 
‘self-made  man.'  His  wife  is  charming.  Besides  being  a person 
of  highly  intellectual  tastes,  she  is  greatly  her  husband's  superior — 
as  you  will  understand  when  1 tell  you  that  she  is  related  to  the 
Gommerys  of  Pommery;  not  the  Pommerys  of  Gommery,  who  (as 
your  knowledge  of  our  old  families  will  inform  you)  only  claim 
kindred  with  the  younger  branch  of  that  ancient  race. 

In  the  elegant  and  improving  companionship  which  1 now  en- 
joy I should  feel  quite  happy  but  for  one  drawback.  The  climate 
of  Canada  is  not  favorable  to  my  kind  patroness,  and  her  medical 
advisers  recommend  her  to  winter  in  London.  In  this  event,  I 
am  to  have  the  privilege  of  accompanying  her.  Is  it  necessary 
to  add  that  my  first  visit  will  be  paid  at  your  house?  I feel 
already  united  by  sympathy  to  your  mother  and  your  sisters. 
There  is  a sort  of  freemasonry  among  frentlewomeo,  is  there  not? 
With  best  thanks  and  remembrances,  and  many  delightful  antici- 
pations of  your  next  letter,  believe  me,  dear  Mr.  IJolmcroft, 

‘‘Truly  yours,  Grace  Koseberry.'* 

III. 

From  Mr.  Horace  Holmcroft  to  Miss  Gbace  Koseberry, 

“ My  Dear  Miss  Koseberry, — Pray  excuse  my  long  silence. 
I have  waited  for  mail  after  mail,  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to 
send  you  some  good  news  at  last.  It  is  useless  to  wait  longer. 
My  worst  forebodings  have  been  realized;  my  painful  duty  com- 
pels me  to  write  a letler  which  will  surprise  and  shock  you. 

“Let  me  describe  events  in  their  order  as  they  happened.  In 
this  way  I may  hope  to  gradually  prepare  your  mind  for  ' at  is  to 
come. 

“ About  three  weeks  after  I wrote  to  you  last,  Julian  Gray  paid 
the  penalty  of  his  headlong  rashness.  I do  not  mean  that  be  suffered 
any  actual  violence  at  tha  hands  of  the  people  among  whouj  he  had 
cast  his  lot.  On  the  contrary,  he  succeeded,  incredible  as  it  may 
appear,,  in  producing  a favorable  impression  on  the  rufiians  around 
him.  As  1 understand  it,  they  began  by  respecting  his  courage  in 
venturing  among  them  alone;  and  they  ended  in  discovering  that  he 
was  really  interested  in  promoting  their  welfare,  it  is  to  the  other 
peril,  indicated  in  my  last  letter,  that  he  has  fallen  a victim  —the 
peril  of  disease.  Not  long  after  he  began  his  labors  in  the  district 
fever  broke  out.  We  only  heard  that  Julian  had  been  struck 
down  by  the  epidemic  when  it  was  too  late  to  remove  him  from  the 
lodging  that  he  occupied  in  the  neighborhood.  I made  inquiries 
personally  the  moment  the  news  reached  us.  The  doctor  in  attend- 
ance refused  to  answer  for  his  life. 

“ In  this  alarming  state  of  things,  poor  Lady  Janet,  impulsive  and 
unreasonable  as  usual,  insisted  on  leaving  Mablethorpe  House  and 
taking  up  her  residence  near  her  nephew. 

“Finding  it  impossible  to  persuade  her  of  the  folly  of  removing 
from  home  and  its  comforts  at  her  age,  I felt  it  my  duty  to  accom- 
pany her.  We  found  accommodation  (such  as  it  was)  in  a river- 
side inn,  used  by  ship- captains  and  commercial  travelers.  I took  it 


228 


THE  KEW  MAGDALEK. 


on  myself  to  provide  the  best  medical  assistance.  Lady  Janet’s 
insane  prejudices  against  doctors  impelling  her  to  leave  this  impor- 
tant part  of  the  arrangements  entirely  in  my  hands. 

“ It  is  needless  to  weary  you  by  entering  into  details  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Julian’s  illness. 

**  The  fever  pursued  the  ordinary  course,  and  was  characterized 
by  the  usual  intervals  of  delirium  and  exhaustion  succeeding  each 
other.  Subsequent  events,  which  it  is,  unfortunately,  necessary  to 
relate  to  you,  leave  me  no  choice  but  to  dwell  (as  briefly  as  possible) 
on  the  painful  subject  of  the  delirium.  In  other  cases  the  wander  - 
ings of  fever-stricken  people  present,  I am  told,  a certain  variety  of 
range.  In  Julian's  case  they  were  limited  to  one  topic.  He  talked 
incessantly  of  Mercy  Merrick.  His  invariable  petition  to  his  med- 
ical attendants  entreated  them  to  send  for  her  to  nurse  him.  Day 
and  night  that  one  idea  was  in  his  mind,  and  that  one  name  on  his 
lips. 

“ The  doctors  naturally  made  inquiries  as  to  this  absent  person. 
I was  obliged  (in  confidence)  to  state  the  circumstances  to  them 
plainly. 

“ The  eminent  physician  whom  I had  called  in  to  superintend  the 
treatment  behaved  admirably.  Though  he  has  risen  from  the  lower 
order  of  the  people,  he  has,  strange  to  say,  the  instincts  of  a gentle- 
man. He  thoriiughly  understood  our  trying  position,  and  felt  all 
the  importance  of  preventing  such  a person  as  Mercy  Merrick  from 
seizing  the  opportunity  of  intruding  herself  at  the  bedside.  A sooth- 
ing prescription  (I  have  his  own  authority  for  saying  il)  was  all  that 
was  required  to  meet  the  patient’s  case.  The  local  doctor,  on  the 
other  hand,  a young  man  (and  evidently  a red-hot  radical),  proved 
to  be  obstinate,  and,  considering  his  position,  insolent  as  well. 

’ I have  nothing  to  do  with  the  lady’s  character,  and  with  your 
opinion  of  it,’  he  said  to  me.  ‘ 1 have  only,  to  the  best  of  my  judg- 
ment, to  point  out  to  you  the  likeliest  means  of  saving  the  patient’s 
life.  Our  art  is  at  the  end  of  its  resources.  Send  for  Mercy  Mer- 
rick, no  matter  who  she  is  or  what  she  is.  There  is  just  a chance 
— especially  if  she  proves  to  be  a sensible  person  and  a good  nuise — 
that  he  may  astonish  you  all  by  recognizing  her.  In  that  case  only 
liis  recovery  is  probable.  If  you  persist  in  disregarding  his  entreat- 
ies, if  you  let  the  delirium  go  on  for  four-and-twenty  hours  moroy 
he  is  a dead  man.” 

‘'Lady  Janet  was,  most  unluckily,  present  when  this  impudent 
opinion  was  delivered  at  the  bedside. 

“ Need  I tell  you  the  sequel?'  Called  upon  to  choose  between  thei 
course  indicated  by  a physician  who  is  making  his  five  thousand  a 
year,  and  who  is  certain  of  the  next  medical  baronetcy,  and  the  ad- 
vice volunteered  by  an  obscure  general  practitioner  at  the  East  Encll 
of  London,  who  is  not  making  his  five  hundred  a year — need  I stop 
to  inform  you  of  her  ladyship’s  decision?  You  know  her;  and  you 
will  only  too  well  understand  that  her  next  proceeding  was  to  pay  a 
third  visit  to  the  Refuge. 

” Two  hours  later — I give  you  my  word  of  honor  I am  not  exag- 
gerating—Mercy  Merrick  was  established  at  Julian’s  bedside. 

**  The  excuse,  of  course,  was  that  it  was  her  duty  not  to  let  any 
private  scruples  of  her  own  stand  in  the  way,  when  a medico 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN, 


239 

authority  had  declared  that  sfce  might  save  the  patient’s  life.  You 
will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  1 withdrew  from  the  scene.  The 
physician  followed  my  example — after  having  written  his  soothing 
prescription,  and  having  been  grossly  insulted  by  the  local  practi- 
tioner’s refusal  to  make  use  of  it.  I went  back  in  the  doctor’s  car- 
riage. He  spoke  most  feelingly  and  properly.  Without  giving  any 
positive  opinion,  I could  see  that  he  had  abandoned  all  hope  of 
Julian’s  recovery.  ‘ We  are  in  the  hands  of  Providence,  Mr.  Holm- 
croft;’  those  were  his  last  words  as  he  set  me  down  at  my  mother’s 
door. 

“ I have  hardly  the  heart  to  go  on.  If  1 studied  my  own  wishes, 
I should  feel  inclined  to  stop  here. 

“ Let  me,  at  least,  hasten  to  the  end.  In  two  or  three  days’  time 
I received  my  first  intelligence  of  the  patient  and  his  nurse.  Lady 
Janet  informed  me  that  he  had  recognized  her.  When  I heard  this 
I felt  prepared  for  what  was  to  come.  The  next  report  announced 
that  he  was  gaining  strength,  and  the  next  that  he  was  out  of  dan- 
ger. Upon  this  Lady  Janet  returned  to  Mablethorpe  House.  I 
called  there  a week  ago— and  heard  that  he  had  been  removed  to  tho 
seaside.  I called  yesterday — and  received  the  latest  information 
from  her  ladvship’s  own  lips.  My  pen  almost  refuses  to  write  it. 
Mercy  Merrick  has  consented  to  marry  him! 

“ An  Outrage  on  Society — that  is  how  my  mother  and  my  sisters 
view  it:  that  is  how  will  view  it  too.  My  mother  has  herself 
struck  Julian’s  name  off  her  invitation  list.  The  servants  hav^ 
their  orders,  if  he  presumes  to  call:  * Not  at  home.’ 

“ 1 am  unhappily  only  too  certain  that  I am  correct  in  writing  to 
you  of  this  disgraceful  marriage  as  of  a settled  thing.  J^iady  Janet 
went  the  length  of  showing  me  the  letters — one  from  Julian,  tho 
other  from  the  woman  herself.  Fancy  Mercy  Merrick  in  correspond- 
ence with  Lady  Janet  Roy!  addressing  her  as  ‘ My  dear  Lady 
Janet,’  and  signing,  ‘ Yours  affectionately!’ 

“ I had  not  the  patience  to  read  either  of  the  letters  through, 
Julian’s  tone  is  the  tone  of  a Socialist:  In  my  opinion  his  bishop 
ought  to  be  informed  of  it.  As  for  her,  she  plays  her  part  just  aa 
cleverly  with  her  pen  as  she  played  it  with  her  tongue.  ‘ I cannot 
disguise  from  myself  that  I am  wrong  in  yielding. .....  Sad  forebod- 
ings fill  my  mind  when  I think  of  the  future I feel  as  if  the  first 

contemptuous  look  that  is  cast  at  my  husband  will  destroy  happi- 
ness, though  it  may  not  disturb  As  long  as  1 was  parted 

from  him  I could  control  my  own  weakness,  I couid  accept  my  hard 
lot.  But  how  can  I resist  him  after  having  watched  for  weeks  at 
his  bedside;  and  after  having  seen  his  first  smile  and  heard  his  first 
grateful  words  to  me  while  I was  slowly  helping  him  back  to  life?’ 

“ There  is  the  tone  which  she  takes  through  /our  closely  written 
pages  of  nauseous  humility  and  clap -trap  sentiment!  It  is  enough 
to  make  one' despise  women.  Thank  God,  there  is  the  contrast  at 
hand  to  repaind  me  of  what  is  due  to  the  better  few  among  the  sex. 
I feel  that  my  mother  and  my  sisters  are  doubly  precious  to  me  now. 
May  I add,  on  the  side  of  consolation,  th%t  I p/ize  with  hardly  inferior 
gratitude,  the  privilege  of  corresponding  with  you  f 

“ Farewell  for  the  present.  1 am  too  rudely  shaken  in  my  most 


230 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


cherished  convictions,  I am  too  depressed  and  disheartened  to  write 
more.  All  good  wishes  go  with  you,  dear  Miss  Hoseberry,  until  we 
meet. 

“ Most  truly  yours, 

“Horace  Holmcroft.'* 
Extracts  from  the  Diary  of  The  Eeverend  Julian  Gray. 

FIRST  EXTRACT. 

“A  month  to-day  since  we  were  married  f I have  only  one 

thing  to  say  ] would  cheerfully  go  through  all  that  I have  suffered 
to  live  this  one  month  over  again.^  1 never  knew  what  happiness 
was  until  now.  And  better  still,  1 have  persuaded  Mercy  that  it  is 
all  her  doing.  I have  scattered  her  misgivings  to  the  winds;  she  is 
obliged  to  submit  to  evidence,  and  to  own  that  she  make  the 
happiness  of  my  life. 

“ We  go  back  to  London  to-morrow.  She  regrets  leaving  the 
tranquil  retirement  of  this  remote  sea  side  place — she  dreads  change. 
1 care  nothing  for  it.  It  is  all  one  to  me  where  I go,  so  long  as  my 
wife  is  with  me.'* 

SECOND  EXTRACT. 

“ The  first  cloud  has  risen.  1 entered  the  room  unexpect- 
edly just  now,  and  found  her  in  tears. 

“ With  considerable  diflSculty  1 persuaded  her  to  tell  me  what 
had  happened.  Are  there  any  limits  to  the  mischief  that  can  be 
done  by  the  tongue  of  a foolish  woman?  The  landlady  at  my  lodg- 
ings is  the  woman  in  this  case.  Having  no  decided  plans  for  the 
future  as  yet,  we  returned  (most  unfortunately,  as  the  event  has 
proved)  to  the  rooms  in  London  which  I inhabited  in  ray  bachelor 
days.  They  are  still  mine  for  six  weeks  to  come,  and  Mercy  was 
unwilling  to  let  me  incur  the  expense  of  taking  her  to  a hotel.  At 
breakfast  this  morning  1 rashly  congratulated  myself  (in  ray  wife’s 
hearing)  on  finding  that  a much  smaller  collection  than  usual  of 
letters  and  cards  had  accumulated  in  my  absence.  Breakfast  over, 
I was  obliged  to  go  out.  Painfully  sensitive,  poor  thing,  to  any 
change  in  my  experience  of  the  little  world  around  me  which  it  is 
possible  to  connect  with  the  event  of  my  marriage,  Mere}'  ques- 
tioned the  landlady,  in  my  absence,  about  the  diminished  number  of 
ray  visitors  and  my  correspondents.  The  woman  seized  the  op- 
portunity of  gossiping  about  me  and  my  affairs,  and  my  wife’s 
quick  perception  drew  Uie  right  conclusion  unerringly.  My 
marriage  has  decided  certain  wise  heads  of  families  on  discontinu- 
ing their  social  relations  with  me.  The  facts,  unfortunately,  speak 
for  themselves.  Peeople  who  in  former  years  habitually  called  upon 
me  and  invited  me — or  who,  in  the  event  of  my  absence,  habitu- 
ally wrote  tome  at  this  season — have  abstained  with  a remarkable 
unanimity  from  calling,  inviting,  or  writing  now. 

It  would  have  been  sheer  waste  of  time — to  say  nothing  of  it 
also  implying  a want  of  confidence  in  my  wife — if  I had  attempted 
to  set  things  right  by  disputing  Mercy  s conclusion.  1 could  only 
satisfy  her  that  not  so  much  as  the  shadow  of  disappointment  or 
mortification  rested  on  mind.  In  this  way  I have,  to  some  <;x« 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


231 

tent,  succeeded  in  composing  my  poor  darling.  But  the  wound 
has  been  inflicted,  and  the  wound  is  felt.  There  is  no  disguising 
that  result.  I must  face  it  boldly. 

“ Trifling  as  this  incident  is  in  my  estimation,  it  has  decided  me 
on  one  point  already.  In  shaping  my  future  course  I am  now  re- 
solved to  act  on  my  own  convictions — in  preference  to  taking  the 
well-meant  advice  of  such  friends  as  arc  still  left  to  me. 

“Alim}  little  success  in  liJ:  has  been  gained  in  the  pulpit.  I 
am  what  is  termed  a popular  preacher— but  I have  never,  in  my 
secret  self,  felt  any  exultation  in  my  own  notoriety,  or  any  extra- 
ordinary respect  for  tlie  means  by  which  has  been  won.  In  the 
first  place,  1 have  n very  low  idea  of  the  importance  of  oratory  as  an 
intellectual  accomplishment.  There  is  r.o  other  art  in  which  the 
conditions  of  success  are  so  easy  of  attainment;  there  is  no  other 
art  in  the  practice  of  which  ©o  much  that  is  purely  superficial  passes 
itself  off  habitually  for  something  thot  claims  to  be  profounc.  Then 
again,  how  poor  it  is  in  the  results  which  It  achieves!  Take  my  own 
case.  Bow  often  (for  example)  1 .eve  1 thundered  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul  against  the  wicked  extrrwagance  of  dress  among  women 
— against  their  fdthy  false  hair  end  their  nauseous  powders  and 
paints!  How  often  (to  take  another  example)  have  I denounced 
the  mercenary  and  material  spirit  of  the  age — the  habitual  corrup- 
tions and  dishonesties  of  commerce,  in  high  places  and  in  low’ 
V7hat  good  have  1 done?  1 have  delighted  the  very  people  whom  it 
was  my  object  to  rebuke.  ‘ What  a charming  sermon!'  * More 
eloquent  than  ever!’  ‘ 1 used  to  dread  the  sermon  3t  the  other 
church — do  you  know,  I quite  look  forward  to  it  now.'  That  is  the 
effect  I produce  on  Sunday.  On  Monday  the  women  are  to  the 
milliners  to  spend  more  money  than  ever;  the  City  men  aro  off  to 
business  to  make  more  money  than  ever — while  my  grocer,  loud  in 
my  praises  in  his  Sunday  coat,  turns  up  his  week-day  sleeves  and 
adulterates  his  favorite  preacher’s  sugar  as  cheerfully  as  usual! 

“ I have  often,  in  past  years,  felt  the  objections  "to  pursuing  my 
career  which  are  here  indicated.  They  were  bitterly  present  to  my 
mind  when  I resigned  my  curacy,  and  they  strongly  influence  me 
now. 

“lam  weary  of  my  cheaply  won  success  in  the  pulpit.  I L^m  weary 
of  society  as  I find  it  in  my  time.  I felt  some  respect  for  myself,  and 
some  heart  and  hope  in  my  work  among  the  miserable  wretches  in 
Green  Anchor  Fields..  But  I cannot,  and  must  not,  return  among 
them:  I have  no  righX  now ^ to  trifle  with  my  health  and  my  life. 
I must  go  back  to  my  preaching,  or  I must  leave  England.  Among 
a primitive  people,  away  from  the  cities — in  the  far  and  fertile 
West  of  the  great  American  continent — I might  live  happily  with 
my  wife,  and  do  good  among  my  neighbors,  secure  of  providing 
for  our  wants  out  of  the  modest  little  income  whiq^  is  almost  useless 
to  me  here.  In  the  life  which  I thus  picture  to  myself  I see  love, 
peace,  health,,  and  duties  and  occupations  that  are  worthy  of  a 
Christian  man.  What  prospect  is  before  me  if  I take  the  advice  of 
my  friends  and  stay  here?  Work  of  which  I am  weary,  because  I 
have  long  since  ceased  to  respect  it;  petty  malice  that  strikes  me 
through  my  wife,  and  mortifies  and  humiliates  her,  turn  where  she 
may  If  I bad  only  myself  to  think  of,  I might  defy  the  worst  that 


THE  KEW  MAGDALE3S?, 


232 

malice  can  do.  But  I have  Mercy  to  think  of — Mercy,  whom  1 love 
better  than  my  own  life!  Women  live,  poor  things,  in  the  opinions  / 
of  others.  1 have  had  one  warning  already  of  what  my  wife  is 
likely  to  suffer  at  the  hands  of  my  ‘ friends  • — Heaven  forgive  me 
for  misusing  the  word!  Shall  I deliberately  expose  her  to  fresh 
mortifications?— and  this  for  the  sake  of  returning  to  a Career  the 
rewards  of  which  1 no  longer  prize?  No!  We  will  both  be  happy 
— we  will  both  be  free!  God  is  merciful.  Nature  is  kind.  Love  is 
true,  in  the  New  World  as  well  as  the  Old.  To  the  New  World  we 
will  go!'" 

THIRD  EXTRACT. 

1 hardly  know  whether  1 have  done  right  or  wrong.  1 men- 
tioned yesterday  to  Lady  Janet  the  cold  reception  of  me  on  my  re- 
turn to  London,  and  the  painfiil  sense  of  it  felt  by  my  wife. 

“ My  aunt  looks  at  the  matter  from  her  own  peculiar  point  of 
view,  and  makes  light  of  it  accordingly.  ‘ You  never  did.  and 
never  will,  understand  Society,  Julian,’  said  her  ladyship.  ‘ These 
poor  stupid  people  simply  don’t  know  what  to  do.  They  are  wait- 
ing to  be  told  by  a person  of  distinction  whether  they  are,  or  are 
not,  to  recognize  your  marriage.  In  plain  English,  they  are  waiting 
to  be  led  by  Me.  Consider  It'd  one.  I will  lead  them.’ 

“ I thought  my  aunt  was  joking.  The  event  of  to-day  has  shown 
me  that  she  is  terribly  in  earnest.  Lady  Janet  has  issued  invita- 
tions for  one  of  her  grand  balls  at  Mablethorpe  House;  and  she 
has  caused  the  report  to  be  circulated  everywhere  that  the  object  of 
the  festival  is  to  ‘ celebrate  the  marriage  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Julian 
Gray!’ 

“ I at  first  refused  to  be  present.  To  my  amazement,  however, 
Mercy  sides  with  my  aunt.  She  reminds  me  of  all  that  we  both 
owe  to  Lady  Janet;  and  she  has  persuaded  me  to  alter  my  mind. 
We  are  to  go  to  the  ball — at  my  wife’s  express  request! 

“ The  meaning  of  this,  as  1 interpret  it,  is  that  my  poor  love  is 
still  pursued  in  secret  by  the  dread  that  my  marriage  has  injured 
me  in  the  general  estimation.  She  will  suffer  anything,  risk  any- 
thing, believe  anything,  to  be  freed  from  that  one  haunting  doubt. 
Lady  Janet  predicts  a social  triumph;  and  my  wife’s  despair— not 
my  wife’s  conviction— accepts  the  prophecy.  'As  for  me,  I am  pre- 
pared for  the  result.  It  will  end  in  our  going  to  the  New  World, 
and  trying  Society  in  its  infancy,  among  the  forests  and  the  plains. 

I shall  quietly  prepare  for  our  departure,  and  own  what  I have  done 
at  the  right  time— that  is  to  say,  when  the  ball  is  over.” 

FOURTH  EXTRACT. 

**  I have  met  wth  the  man  for  my  purpose — an  old  college  friend 
of  mine,  now  partner  in  a firm  of  ship-owners,  largely  concerned  in 
emigration. 

“ One  of  their  vessels  sails  for  America,  from  the  port  of  London, 
in  a fortnight,  touching  at  Plymouth.  By  a fortunate  coincidence. 
Lady  Janet’s  ball  takes  place  in  a fortnight.  I see  my  way. 

“ Helped  by  the  kindness  of  my  friend,  I have  arranged  to  have  a 
cabin  kept  in  reserve  <70  payment  of  a small  deposit.  If  the  ball 
(as  I believe  it  w'dl)  in  new  mortifications  for  Mercy — do  whafi 


THE  KEW  MJLGDALEH.  283 

they  may,  I defy  them  to  mortify  me — I have  only  to  say  the  word 
by  telegraph,  and  we  shall  catch  the  ship  at  Plymouth. 

‘‘  I know  the  effect  it  will  have  when  I break  the  news  to  her,  but 
lam  prepared  with  my  remedy.  The  pages  of  my  diary,  written 
in  past  years  will  show  plainly  enough  that  it  is  not  she  who  is 
driving  me  away  from  England.  She  will  see  the  longing  in  me 
for  other  work  and  other  scenes  expressing  itself  over  and  over 
again  long  before  the  time  when  we  first  met.'* 

FIFTH  EXTRACT. 

“Mercy's  ball  dress— a present  from  kind  Lady  Janet— k 
finished.  1 was  allowed  to  see  the  first  trial  or  prelimioaxy  re- 
hearsal, of  this  work  of  art.  I don’t  in  the  least  understand  the 
merits  of  silk  and  lace;  but  one  thing  I know— my  wife  will 'be  the 
most  beautiful  woman  at  the  ball. 

“ The  same  day  I called  on  Lady  Janet  to  thank  her,  and  encoun- 
tered a new  revelation  of  the  wayward  and  original  character  of  my 
dear  old  aunt. 

“ She  was  on  the  point  of  tearing  up  a letter  when  I went  into  her 
room.  Seeing  .me,  she  suspended  her  purpose,  and  handed  me  the 
setter.  It  was  in  Mercy’s  hand-writing.  Lady  Janet  pointed  to  a 
passage  on  the  last  page.  ‘ Tell  your  wife,  with  my  love,’  she  said, 
‘ that"!  am  the  most  obstinate  woman  of  the  two.  I positively  re^ 
fuse  to  read  her,  as  I positivel7  refuse  to  listen  to  her,  whenever  she 
attempts  to  return  to  that  one  subject.  Now  give  me  the  letter 
back.’  I gave  1.  back,  and  savs^  it  torn  up  before  my  face.  The 
‘ one  subject ' prohibited  to  Mercy  as  sternly  as  ever  is  still  the  sub- 
jec  o:.  the  personation  of  Grace  Roseberry!  Nothing  could  have 
been  more  naturall;/  introduced,  or  more  cleverly  managed,  than  my 
wife^:  brief  reference  to  the  subject.  No  matter.  The  reading  of 
the  first  line  was  enough.  Lady  Janet  shut  her  eyes  and  destroyed 
^he  letter— Lady  Janet  is  determined  to  live  and  die  absolutely  igno- 
rant of  the  true  story  of  ‘Mercy  Merrick.’  What  unanswers  bio 
riddles  we  are  I Is  it  wonderful  if  we  perpetually  fail  to  understand 
one  another?” 

SIXTH  EXTRACT. 

“ The  morning  after  the  ball. 

“ It  is  done  and  over.  Society  has  beaten  Lady  Janet.  I have 
neither  patience  nor  time  to  write  at  length  of  it.  We  leave  for 
Plymouth  by  tho  afternoon  express. 

“We  were  rather  late  in  arriving  at  the  ball.  The  magnificent 
rooms  were  filling  fast.  Walking  through  them  with  my  wife,  she 
drew  my  attention  to  a circumstance  which  I had  not  noticed  at  the 
time.  ‘ Julian,’ she  said^  ‘look  round  among  the  ladies,  and  tell 
me  if  you  see  anything  strange.  ’ As  I looked  round  the  band  began 
playing  a waltz.  ^ observed  that  a few  people  only  passed  by  us  to 
the  dancing-room.  I noticed  next  that  of  those  few  fewer  still  were 
young.  At  last  it  burst  upon  me.  With  certain  exceptions  (so  rare 
as  to  prove  the  rule),  there  were  no  young  girb  at  iJady  Janet’s  balk 
1 took  Mercy  at  once  back  to  the  reception  room.  J ady  Janet’s  face 
showed  that  she  too  was  aware  of  what  had  happened.  The  guests 
were  still  arriving.  We  received  the  wn  and  their  wives,  the  men 


234 


THE  HEW  MAGDALEH. 


and  their  mothers,  the  men  and  their  grandmothers— but,  in  place  of 
their  unmarried  daughters,  elaborate  excuses,  offered  with  a shame- 
less politeness  wonderful  to  see.  Yes!  This  was  how  the  matrons 
in  high  life  had  got  over  the  difficulty  of  meeting  Mrs.  Julian  Gray  at 
Lady  Janet's  house. 

Let  me  do  strict  Justice  to  every  one.  The  ladies  who  were 
present  showed  the  needful  respect  for  their  hostess^  They  did  their 
duty — no,  overdid  it,  is  perhaps  the  better  phrase. 

1 really  had  no  adequate  idea  of  the  coarseness  and  rudeness 
which  have  filtered  their  way  through  society  in  these  later  times 
until  I saw  the  reception  accorded  to  my  wife.  The  days  of  prudery 
and  prejudice  are  days  gone  by.  Excessive  amiability  and  excessive 
liberality  are  the  two  favorite  assumptions  of  the  modern  generation. 
To  see  the  women  expressing  their  liberal  forgetfulness  of  my  wife's 
misfortunes,  and  the  men  their  amiable  anxiety  to  encourage  her 
husband ; to  hear  the  same  set  phrases  repeated  in  every  room — ‘ So 
cnarmed  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Gray;  Bormich  obliged  to 
dear  Lady  Janet  forgiving  us  this  opportunity! — Julian,  old  man. 
what  a beautiful  creature!  I envy  you;  upon  my  honor,  I envy 
you!' — to  receive  this  sort  of  welcome,  emphasized  by  obtrusive 
handshakings,  sometimes  actually  by  downrij2:ht  hissings  of  my 
wife,  and  then  to  look  around  and  see  that  not  one  in  thirty  of  these 
very  people  had  brought  their  unmarried  daughters  to  the  ball,  was, 
1 honestly  believe,  to  civilized  human  nature  in  its  basest  con- 
ceivable aspect.  The  New  World  may  have  its  disappointments  in 
store  for  us,  but  it  cannot  possibly  show  us  any  spectacle  so  abject 
as  the  spectacle  which  we  witnessed  last  night  at  my  aunt’s  ball. 

Lady  Janet  marked  her  sense  of  the  proceeding  adopted  by  her 
guests  by  leaving  them  to  themselves.  Her  guests  remained  and 
supped  heartily  notwithstanding.  They  all  knew  by  experience  that 
there  were  no  stale  dishes  and  no  cheap  wines  at  Mablethorpe  House. 
They  drank  to  the  end  of  the  bottle  and  they  ate  to  the  last  truffle  in 
the  dish. 

“ Mercy  and  I had  an  interview’  with  my  aunt  up  stairs  before  we 
left.  I felt  it- necessary  to  state  plainly  my  resolution  to  leave  Eng- 
land. The  scene  that  followed  was  so  painful  that  I cannot  prevail 
on  myself  to  return  to  it  in  these  pages.  My  wife  is  reconciled  to 
our  departure ; and  Lady  Janet  accompanies  us  as  far  as  Plymoutia 
— these  are  the  results.  No  words  can  express  my  sense  of  leLiei.  now 
that  it  is  all  settled.  The  one  sorrow^  I shall  carry  away  me 

from  the  shores  of  England  will  be  the  sorrow  of  parting  wi:h  dear, 
warm- hearted  Lady  Janet.  At  her  age  it  is  a parting  !.>?  li  e. 

“ So  closes  my  connection  with  my  own  country.  WhL^'  dhaTe 
Mercy  by  my  side  I face  the  unknown  future,  certain  of  carryiag  my 
happiness  with  me,  go  where  I may.  We  shall  find  live  h indred 
adventurers  like  ourselves,  wdien  v ' join  the  emigrant  ship,  tor 
whom  their  native  land  has  no  occupation  and  no  home.  Gentlemen 
of  the  Statistical  Department,  add  .wo  more  to  the  number  of  social 
failures  produced  by  England  in  tho  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  seventy-one —Julian  Gray  and  Mercy  MerricI^^' 

THB  END. 


Charles  Dickens’  Complete  Works 


IN  SETS  OF  CLOTH  AND  FINE  BINDINGS. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


Ipopular  Sets,  printed  on  good  paper,  in  clear  type  and 
bound  substantially  in  c^loth  and  half  calf. 

Puck  edition,  lovols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  . . . . $6.75 

Popular  edition,  15  vols.,  i2mo,  gilt,  , • . 8.00 

“ “ 15  vols.,  1 2mo,  half  calf,  gilt  tops,  • • 22.50 


Stan&ar&  Sets  are  well  printed  on  fine  paper,  tastefully 
" bound  in  durable  cloth,  genuine  half  calf  and  half 
crushed  levant. 

Standard  edition,  15  vols.,  1 2mo,  cloth  gilt,  . . . $11.25 

“ 15  vols.,  i2mo,  half  crushed  levant,  gilt  tops,  30.00 

“ 15  vols.,  i2mo,  half  calf,  gilt  tops,  . . 30.00 


Xibracig  Sets  are  all  printed  on  extra  fine  paper,  hand- 
somely bound  in  best  English  vellum  cloth,  fine  half 
calf  and  half  crushed  levant  bindings,  with  gilt  tops. 
Fully  illustrated. 

Library  edition,  15  vols.,  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  tops,  . . . $18.75 

“ ‘‘  15  vols.,  8vo,  half  crushed  levant,  gilt  tops,  37*50 

“ “ 15  vols.,  8vo,  half  calf,  gilt  tops,  • . 37«5o 


UNITED  STATES  BOOK  COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS  TO 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY 


150  WORTH  ST.,  COR.  MISSION  PLACE 


NEW  YORK 


The  Works  of  Washington  Irving 

IN  SETS  OF  CLOTH  AND  FINE  BINDINGS. 


IDopuIar  Set6t  printed  on  good  paper,  in  clear  type  and 
hound  substantially  in  cloth  and  half  calf. 


Popular  edition  (containing  Life  of  Washington),  8 vols.,  cloth,  . , 

■ “ “ “ “ “ 8 vols.,  i2mo,  half  calf, 

(without  Life  of  Washington),  6 vols.,  lamo,  cloth, 

“ “ “■  6 vols.,  i2mo,  half  calf, 

Life  of  Washington,  2 vols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  . . . 

“ “ 2 vols.,  i2mo,  half  calf, 

‘‘  “■  3 vols.,  i2mo,  half  calf, 

“ “ 4 vols.,  i2mo,  half  calf. 


^6.50 

12.00 

4-50 

9.00 

2.00 

3.00 
4-50 

6.00 


gtan&at5  Sete  are  well  printed  on  fine  paper,  tastefully 
bound  in  durable  cloth,  genuine  half  calf  and  half 
crushed  levant. 


Standard  edition  (with  Life  of  Washington),  9 vols.,  i2mo,  cloth, 

“ 9 vols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  half  crushed 

levant,  gilt  top, 

“ “ 9 vols.,  i2mo,  half  calf,  gilt  top, 

(without  Life  of  Washington),  6 vols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  gilt, 

“ “ “ 6 vols.,  i2mo,  half  crushed 

levant,  gilt  top, 

“ “ “ 6 vols.,  12010,  half  calf,  gilt  top. 

Life  of  Washington,  3 vols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  gilt, 

“ “ 3 vols.,  i2mo,  half  crushed  levant, 

gilt  top,  .... 
“ 3 vols.,  i2mo,  half  calf,  gilt  top. 


18.00 

18.00 

6.00 

12.00 
12.00 

3.00 

6.00 
6.00 


Xibrarn?  Seta  are  all  printed  on  extra  fine  paper,  hand- 
somely bound  in  best  English  velhini  cloth,  fine  half 
calf  and  half  crushed  levant  bindings,  with  gilt  tops. 
Fully  illustrated. 


Library  edition  (containing  Life  of  Washington),  10  vols.,  8vo,  cloth, 

gilt  top, 

“ “ “ 10  vols.,  8vo,  half  crushed 

levant,  gilt  top, 

“ “ “ “ “ 10  vols.,  8vo,  half  calf, 

gilt  top,  . 

“ “ Life  of  Washington,  4 vols.,  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  . 

“4  vols.,  8 VO,  half  crushed  levant, 
gilt  top,  .... 

“ “ ‘‘  4 vols.,  8vo,  half  calf,  gilt  top, 


3^12.50 

25.00 


25.00 

6.00 


12.00 

12.00 


UNITED  STATES  BOOK  COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS  TO 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY 


150  WORTH  ST.,  COR.  MISSION  PLACE 


NEW  YORK 


A Writing  Machine  for  Everybody ! 

THE^inPLEX  TTFEWRiTER 

Progressive  People  WRITI^  NMAT  on  this  Machine. 


s.  ^ 

cu  I 

.N  H 

co  -J 


c (0 

•u  O 
.2  H 
o <- 

O o 

is 


This  machine  is  not  to  be  placed  in  the  category  with  other  so-called  Typewriters, 
selling  for  $1.00  and  thereabouts,  which  are  utterly  useless  for  any  purpose  except 
that  of  a toy. 

The  SIMPLEX  **  is  the  product  of  experienced  typewriter  manufacturers,  and 
is  a Practical  Typewriter  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  and  as  such  we  guarantee  it. 
The  price  is  marvellously  low  for  a practical  writing  machine. 

We  will  send  the  above  typewriter  with  can  of  ink,  ready  for  use,  and  express 
prepaid  for  $2.75.  EMPIRE  PUBLISHING  CO.  142-148  Worth  Street,  New  York. 


AGENTS  WANTED 


We  Require  Gentlemen  of  ability  to  place  our 
new  premium  goods  with  retail  merchants  to  draw 
cash  trade.  Handsome  pay  is  awaiting  good  men. 
Grocers,  Dry  Goods  and  Boot  and  Shoe  Dealers  are  receiving  splendid 
returns  by  using  our  premiums.  Write  for  particulars. 


WE  REQUIRE  IN  ALL  PARTS  of  the  United  States  and  Canada  men  and 
women  of  ability  to  represent  us  by  placing  a new  and  excellent  household  work  on 
subscription.  It  is  a work  that  every  housekeeper  needs  and  will  order,  especially  as 
our  new  subscription  system  refunds  the  full  amount  paid.  Active  workers  in 
book-fields  will  find  this  a really  good  thing  that  will  pay  handsomely.  Let  us  hear 
from  you. 

EMPIRE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 

142-148  Worth  Street,  New  York. 


1 JTJlJXmXnJTJ^JXaJTJTJTJTJl^^  I 


aruiniuuuuiTuii 

■WITHOUT  AN  EQUAL. 

JACOBS  '“‘COBS 

THE  GREAT  REMEDY  FOR  PAIN, 

CURES 

RHEUMATISM, 

NEURALGIA,  LUMBAGO,  SCIATICA, 
Sprains,  bruises,  ^urns.  Swellings, 

PROMPTLY  AND  PERMANENTLY. 

r THE  CHARLES  A.  VOGELER  CO.,  Baltimore,  Md.  h 

dxruiJTJiJTJXixnjTJTJiJinjinjTJTJTJTJiru^^ 


Y 


OU  SOMETIMES  HAVE 

HEADACHE 

DonT  You? 


The  only  Guaranteed  cure  for  all  Headache  is 

BROMO-SELTZER. 

It  cures  in  like  manner 

NERVOUSNESS,  NAUSEA, 
SLEEPLESSNESS.  BRAIN  FATIGUE 

And  all  forms  of  Disordered  Stomach 

SAFELY  I SUEELY  1 PEOMPTLY  I 

Price,  10c. , 25c. , 50c.  k $1  per  bottle. 

At  Drug-gists,  or  mailed  prepaid  upon 
receipt  of  price. 

EMERSON  DRUG  CO.Baltimore,Md. 


standard  Works  on  Art 

BY  JOHN  RUSKIN. 

Xovell’s  literature  Series 

NO.  PER  VOL. 

51.  Ariadne  . . . . *30 

33-34:.  Arrows.  2 Vols.  - - - 25 

26.  Art  of  England  _ . . 25 

15.  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  - - 20 

28.  Deucalion  - - - *40 

40.  Elements  of  Drawing  - - 25 

12.  Ethics  of  the  Dust  - - 25 

43-46.  Fors  Clavigera.  4 Vols.  - 30 

36.  A Joy  Forever  and  Inaugural  Address  20 

27.  King  of  the  Golden  River  - *25 

47.  Lectures  on  Architecture  and  Painting  *30 


25 


30.  Lectures  on  Art 
Modern  Painters.  Nos.  1 and  2, 

“ “ Nos.  3, 4 and  5,  *40 

52.  Morningsiu  Florence  & Time  and  Tide  25 
35.  Our  Fathers  Have  Told  Us,  Law  s of 

Fesoie  - - *30 

41.  Poems  . - - . *20 

42.  Poetryof  Architecture  and  Painting  25 

48.  Pre-Raphaelitism  and  AratraPentelici  *30 
50.  Proserpina  - - - *40 

14.  Queen  of  the  Air  - - 25 

13.  Sesame  and  Lilies  - - 25 

11.  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture  - *40 

29.  St.  Mark’s  Rest  - - 25 

8-10.  Stones  of  Venice.  3 Vols.  - *40 

31.  The  Two  Paths  - - 25 

32.  Val  D’Arno  and  Pleasures  of  England  *30 
*Illustrated. 

UNITED  STATES  BOOK  COMPANY, 

150  Worth  St.,  cor.  Mission  Place,  New  York. 


